Free Magic Parcel by Frank English Page A

a whisper in his left ear advising him not to say anything yet. It was Tommy.
    Â 
    With mouth tightly shut and the light still turned firmly off, someone took hold of his hand to lead him to an uncertain destination. Oh how a slice of mum’s suet roll and his favourite chips would have made him feel much happier and able to face what was to come.
    Their progress was swift even though the darkness was thick enough to touch, and their guide was either an expert or a night animal, so straight and unerring was his track. Sweet, cool and hot, stifling air attacked Jimmy’s bare face and arms from tunnels opening to left and right, but nothing slowed their rate or deflected their course.
    Suddenly he was stopped by having his nose squashed without warning between the shoulder blades of the person in front.
    â€œSteady on, now! I’m not a wall!” It was Tommy’s voice, and oh how glad the younger brother was to be able to communicate with someone.
    The light, without his really realising it, had grown gradually around him, becoming more diffuse and allowing him to see at last who his guide was.
    â€œBut ... but ...” he stammered in disbelief at seeing only Tommy and the young girl before him. “Where’s the big ... ? And how ... ?”
    It was obvious from the look of mild amusement in her eyes and the slight smile playing around her lips that there was more to her than he understood. He halted in mid-sentence and took to sucking his bottom lip, a puzzled frown on his brow.
    â€œThere is no need to worry,” she smiled. “A sorcerer’s daughter may dare and achieve almost anything. Take comfort that through there is your escape, and whatever lies in store for you both.”
    She swept her hand in front of them, directing their gaze towards a dancing curtain of grey mist across their exit from this den of sorcery, and their entrance to the unknown. As the first wisps of the curtain played across their feet a thought struck Tommy:
    â€œWe don’t even know your name,” he croaked hoarsely, looking back over his shoulder.
    Instantly, almost in anticipation of the question the sweet name “Miriel” floated back to them through the mists, and as it brushed their ears, a feeling of lightness and hope surged through their bodies. The mist finally closed around them and all trace of their companion was lost. They were finally on their own, and the only way left for them was to go forward.
    Â 
    â€œWell, Jim,” Tommy said after a few moments of thoughtful hesitation, “this is a rum how-do-you-do and no mistake. We can’t go back; forward is completely unknown, and all in all ...”
    â€œWe’re lost,” Jimmy interrupted.
    â€œCorrect!” Tommy answered. “Well, it’s for sure we can’t stay here. Time’s getting on and staying here’s just wasting it. So I vote we go on. What do you say?”
    â€œOK by me,” Jimmy answered. “I don’t know what day it is even, so we’ve nothing to lose.”
    So, with a last look back and a nod to each other, the two brothers set off deeper into the mist, accompanied by a strange musical wheeze, which sounded as if the wind was trying to breathe life into a set of worn-out old bagpipes.
    Â 
    On they trudged, able to see nothing but a white blanket mist which enveloped them totally. It was not your usual damp, smelly, choking mist, really not a mist at all, only a mass of white, which painted out all the surroundings.
    Stronger than ever through this white blanket, with other senses heightened by lack of sight, came the equally evocative evidence of an exotic countryside: scents and sounds such as they had never experienced before nor ever dreamed could exist. The sappy, resinous smell of a spring morning’s pine forest mingled with the salt tang of a sou’westerly from the sea, woven around by the equally incongruous sounds of the strident, plaintive cry