The Other of One: Book Two

by Brian G. Burke

  The Other

  of One

  Book Two

  By

  Brian G. Burke

  The Other of One - Book Two

  Edited by Firstediting.com

  Proofed by E. Casey

  Cover illustration by Ebook Launch

  In-book illustrations by Jay Penn

  Copyright © 2015 Brian Burke

  License Notes: This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold, copied, or given away, unless it is through an official ebook borrowing/lending scheme which has been provided by the ebook distributor. Otherwise, please purchase a copy of this book for the person with whom you wish to share it. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Ebook formatting by www.ebooklaunch.com

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you to the people who have supported my writing this past year and for all of your amazing feedback via social media and online reviews. Your voice is what matters, not mine, and the fact that you’re still spreading the word, twelve months on, has left me, genuinely, without words. And thank you to those closest to me, who’ve been putting up with me and my moods during this whole process. You have more perseverance than I could ever have.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One - The Oaken Fort

  Chapter Two - Ewval’s Bastion

  Chapter Three - Beneath the Silt

  Chapter Four - A Tardy Bond

  Chapter Five - Eyes of Time

  Chapter Six - Friend’s End

  Chapter Seven - Ministry of Insects

  Chapter Eight - Rivals of Old

  Chapter Nine - A Step too Far

  Chapter Ten - Ruins of Núra

  Chapter Eleven - Facing the Shield

  Chapter Twelve - The Cloud Window

  Chapter Thirteen - Infiltrating the Gates

  Chapter Fourteen - Gifts from his Servants

  Chapter Fifteen - Courage from Blood

  Chapter Sixteen - A Shadow Trails

  Chapter Seventeen - Will o’ the Wisp

  Chapter Eighteen - Inferno to Blood Fire

  Chapter Nineteen - Briggun

  Chapter Twenty - Enlightenment

  Note to Reader

  - Chapter One -

  The Oaken Fort

  Tick-tock went the old, worn clock. A creaking bough rocked outside William’s window, knocking metrically against the pane, as of a cripple wanting in from winter’s pinch. Shadows of witching hour blackened his room, save for a corner of moonlight that unveiled the clock beside his open door. William was back in Ballycongraggon, in his own bed, peering blindly into a dim hallway. Neither comfort nor fondness warmed his little heart the way one would imagine, for he was petrified of what may be waiting for him behind that unsettling nothingness.

  Tick-tock went the worn, old clock. But for the rapping at his window, that was all he could hear. Then came a faint scribbling. A light scratching which he could not figure out. Peeking over his covers, he noticed the pendulum was stuck, while the scratching was of a spider, rubbing its legs upon the face.

  Tick-tock went that broken, old clock, and then it stopped, scaring the spider into hiding. William crawled to the foot of his bed to take a closer look, when he heard the creak of his mother’s doorknob in the hallway. He froze. A withered shadow of her former self, she emerged; oily hair tossed about her face. Like some hollowed out creature, she moved without hope, nor spirit, nor mind. This wilted apparition was far from the mother he once adored. Tormented looking. Mumbling things. Painful words it seemed. Whimpers. The shadows whispered back in a chant just as faint, while things stirred amongst them. Dark, long-fingered things, with thin, slithering tails, who only answered to misery’s call.

  William couldn’t quite hear what she was saying, so worriedly, he asked, “Ma? What’s wrong?”

  Arms dead by her sides, his voice went unnoticed as she inched her way down the eerie corridor. The shadow beings slithered around her and the walls took to crackling. An acrid smell of smoke tainted the air. Orange swirls burned through the stone, peeling the weathered whitewash into smouldering flakes. Deirdre staggered on. And as the rose-red tongues branded her steps all the further, William noticed how her skin was as grey as bleached rock and was peeling from her bones like ash. She then stopped and turned her ear in his direction.

  “M-My son? Is that you?” she sobbed, when her limp body collapsed into a dusty pile of ashes.

  The inferno swallowed itself into nothing and a porcelain face of nightmares, just as suddenly, sprung up from beneath William’s bed mere inches from his trembling lip.

  “Think you have it in you, boy?!” it snarled viciously.

  A gatling spray of a thousand searing holes punctured through William’s reality from another world, revealing a soaring city, rank with neglect, whose design was centuries beyond Lythiann’s and was too imperious to be anything from his own time.

  William tumbled back against his headboard to find himself beneath a quiet stone bridge, next to the creeping embers of last night’s logs whilst his friends snored soundly all around him. Another nightmare. Hearing a faint scraping nearby, he feared that the spider of his dreams might have returned to haunt him, though it was nothing more than a snoozing Khrum scratching himself where he shouldn’t have been. Dawn’s soft glow gathered behind the abandoned hill-forts of the east, so he sat up until it was time to move out.

  * * *

  Beyond the golden meadows of the closing Midland, leading into the fjord county of Iywèk, was an abrupt, lofty hill. It scaled high before the bulging clouds of yonder. This gap was their course. For a gap it was; closed off on either side by the Glass Mountains and the Grand Plateaus. These wondrous formations scaled up into the sunlit sky as the icy mist drifted from their shoulders like swirls of vapour from a thawing glacier.

  William stopped and stared at the soaring summits that sloped westward to the very land of their outset.

  Allowing the others to walk ahead, Icrick strolled up to his side, and asked, “William, why have you stopped? All is well, I trust?”

  Peering up at those three iced peaks, William replied, “Oh, I’m fine. Just taking in some o’ the scenery. These mountains…they’re beautiful, Icrick. Really something!”

  “Indeed they are.” The Grogoch nodded, admiring those wise slopes. “The Glass Mountains! Very beautiful from afar, yet that there is the home of Old Grimroth.”

  “Grimroth? What’s that?”

  “Who’s that, I suppose you mean?”

  William nodded.

  “Grimroth is believed to be the last of the old ones; the Ice Runners. He keeps to himself mostly, as far as I know. Doesn’t bother us down here. But he also values his privacy in his mountains, and expects the same in return. If anyone ignores it, and ventures into his slopes regardless, then…chances are…there wouldn’t be sight nor sound of them again anytime soon. They say, the last thing you smell before he catches you is burnt wood.”

  “How’d that information get back, if nobody got away?”

  “One escaped,” answered Icrick, curiously.

  A grizzly cry scattered a flock of starlings from the trees of the south-facing peak; barely loud enough to hear, though noticeable enough to put the heart across the Grogoch.

  Taking it for the caution that it was, Icrick said, “Come now, William. Those slopes have eyes, and we mustn’t dawdle. I hope to be in the heart of Iywèk before nightfall. I know of some dry caves there that we can settle in for the night. Besides, I still haven’t forgotten about our little run-in with Valstarius all that time ago. So I think it best we keep moving, should he be hunting us still! Oooh, what a spooky notion that is! Can barely hold m
y water thinking about it.”

  With a burning groan and an uncomfortable twist of his shoulders, he adjusted the Symphogram on his back before moving on.

  “Is it heavy?” the lad asked.

  “It’s not heavy, as such.” Icrick frowned, trying to manage the device. “It’s just awkward…with its big flat base, and the corners sticking into me every now and again. And the straps are a bit flimsy, too! But I’ll get used to it.”

  “If you want, I can carry it for a while,” the boy offered.

  “Not at all, William. As I said, I’ll get used to it. After all, it’s an honour to be appointed such a task. It would be a shame to forfeit it to something as negligible as pain,” said Icrick, and winked.

  Patting him on the back, William said, “Well, if you need a hand with it at any stage, just let me know, okay?”

  Glad of the offer, Icrick gave him a pleasant nod, and both of them sallied forth on their uphill journey.

  It was a demanding, dangerous climb, with clumps of crude rock stabbing out all over, leaving hardly any scope for comfort. Had they clambered on bare hands, it might have eased their struggle somewhat. But the grass on that hill was lethal. It wasn’t like your average, supple sort of grass at all. No. ‘Twas sticky, coarse grass; the very blades of which were serrated with toothed spines that could slice your flesh into ribbons if you were to put any pressure on them whatsoever.

  They would soon know all about it if someone was attempting to use their hands, for there would echo, amongst the hillside, a juddering squawk or a lengthy mutter of vulgarities. Most of the time Icrick was the culprit because he was the worst off, climbing in his bare feet. Even his thickly calloused soles couldn’t protect him from the steely points of that dreadful sward.

  Crosco was making fine progress, sporting armoured boots, and Ifcus was equally as comfortable, all harnessed up on the Dullahan’s heavy shoulders. Nor did Wren care in the slightest. She made it to the pinnacle in no time at all, on Jimzin’s back. So it was really just William and Icrick who’d gotten the unpleasant end of that ghastly climb.

  “I’ve a good mind to tell you to get off and walk like the rest of us,” William said grumpily to Khrum, who was hitching a ride on his shoulder, and making him do all the hard graft.

  “Wouldn’t shtand a chance down there, lad,” Khrum said nervously, holding on tightly to William’s cloak, with one eye poking down. “That shtuff would rip the eyes outta my sockets…’n’ that’s no messin’! Hookblade, it’s called. Cruel aul’ shtuff. They used ta use it up north for catchin’ pike in Lough Càhrn. Many a fish has gotten its face yanked from that tide on account o’ that shtuff! Brutal! Not friendly at all.”

  “Forget the fish,” whined Icrick, picking blades from his feet as he hopped along. “I’ll be walking on stumps by the time I reach the top of this confounded hill.”

  Painful as that climb was, they were soon relieved as the crest was in view and they could see the crowns of the fjords thereafter.

  “Well praise be to God!” sighed the Grogoch when he saw it. “About time!”

  They were rendered breathless by the view. Hookblade or not, William was glad he came this way then.

  Tribes of tremendous, jaded fjords towered up from the lough below, and what a lough it was. Lough Mòyn it was known as; the sheer magnitude of which made them a tad more anxious as to how much longer this expedition was actually going to take. But there it sparkled by its eastern end, as the morning rays smiled in from behind. And even though it was a little daunting for them, it was still absolutely incredible to see.

  Climbing off Jimzin’s back, Wren rested her hands on her sides and, indulging in a breath of fresh air, she said, “Iywèk. The only portion of Lythiann that is free from magic. Not even Drevol could influence the nature in this realm. Totally untouchable…and home to many refugees, I’d expect.”

  As she romanticized over the land, a brief haze of tepid drizzle suddenly scattered itself across the fjords. A forming rainbow then bridged itself from one side to the next in a pattern of unsurpassable beauty.

  “The immortal realm, ya mean?” asked the leprechaun, who’d never travelled to that location in the past. “You’re tellin’ me that this place is the shire that’s impervious ta magic? Iywèk, ya say? Well! I never thought I’d see the day. It’s gorgeous.”

  “It’s amazing how the world appears when you don’t see it through the bottom of a beer glass. Eh, Khrum?” the Grogoch implied.

  “Ya know, for once, I’d have ta agree with ya, Icrick boy,” Khrum admitted. “I always meant ta come ‘n’ see this place, but I never got off my backside ta do it. Wasn’t even sure where it was! Or what it was called. Sure if I had any sense at all, I would’ve shacked up here meself.”

  “Just because the county is unreceptive to Drevol’s magic, doesn’t mean its residents are,” Wren explained. “They reside here in this paradise, unsheltered, at high risk indeed! But I do agree with you, Khrum. It is magnificent. And you may see it again, before the end.”

  “Yes! Yes! Positively charming,” The Head rudely interrupted. “So, which way next, Grogoch? Up? Down? Left? Right?”

  Irresponsive of his master’s boorish depreciation towards Iywèk, Ifcus remained saddled to his back with his eyes closed and his mane flapping bracingly in that delightful, hilltop breeze. It could not be helped, for one, such as he, to just linger and value that remarkable fjordland shire. Same went for the others. They considered those lands as if gazing back into a fond childhood memory. Meanwhile, being as frighteningly organized as usual, Icrick had already readied a peculiar-looking magnifying glass and was gawking through it. One of his odd, homemade implements, no doubt, like his Wayrod. A tool which could ultimately show them on a safe path…theoretically.

  Icrick was fiddling with a couple of dials on the side, and there was his bulbous, brown eyeball glaring through it into the east.

  When he was through tinkering, he said, “Well, if my calculations are correct—”

  But before he could finish his sentence, the ground gave an eruptive quake. Inevitably it grew more violent by the second. William, slamming to his knee, planted his hands into the rigid grass and winced in a struggle to stabilize himself.

  “EARTHQUAKE!” he cried, when a fully grown cedar tree suddenly sprouted up from the dirt before him.

  It nearly took William up with it, but The Body quickly perceived and pulled him from its path before it could do anything of the sort.

  “NOT AN EARTHQUAKE!” Wren cried. “A MOUNTAIN!”

  “MOUNTAIN?!” William exclaimed, and with a huge pulsating swell, the ground started to crack and rock beneath his feet.

  “RUN!” they shouted as they bolted; all except for William.

  “Mountain?” he parroted again confusedly, when Wren grabbed his sleeve and yanked him along.

  “No time for stupid questions! Now run!” she ordered in her strictest tone.

  Wren, herself, probably could have gone with Jimzin, had he not flown off. Yet that aggressive trembling managed to alarm even him, and that’s saying a lot. Defending his Bondite from live predators was one thing; but a quaking hill seemed an entirely different adversary altogether.

  Jagged rocks jutted upward about their heads, forming colossal, towering stacks. The brittle earth shifted about them like monumental stone pistons, all chugging up and down, and moulding themselves into something monstrous.

  They bolted as fast as they could down the hillside; dodging rolling boulders, cloudy scree, and great lumbering trees which sprung out at them from under the soil.

  “What’s going on here?!” William exclaimed as he gained the lead, ducking under branches and bounding over running rocks. “Do mountains just grow whenever they want ‘round here or what?”

  Diving from a slow-rising bluff, he landing into a clever tumble on the other side, with Wren and the others following closely thereafter.

  “For God’s sake, what else would it be?” she snapped. “It’s
blue-rock season in the Midlands, after all! Now…KEEP BLOODY MOVING!”

  As luck would have it, William stumbled onto a steady area of level ground, but as he swept across, he came to notice a vast shadow lengthening before him. Glimpsing back to see what it was, he saw a mountain—of all things—scaling its way up into the clouds above. It was growing from the very hill where they once stood, and it was down along its very slopes that they were galloping.

  He ceased in panic-filled awe as it rose up and up, with the crust manifestly rippling toward the flat ground where he stood. Waterfalls surfaced from fissures, and woodlands shot from the dust like Mother Nature herself was expediting centuries worth of time. Just then, a snapping fracture zipped across the ground between William’s feet.

  Wren happened to spot him standing there, staring at it stupidly, so she dashed back, clutched him by the hair, and sneered, “Do you actually want to die? Move your legs, boy!”

  Down those mouldering slopes they battled. But try as they might, that birthing massif was rising too fast for them. It felt like they weren’t making any progress at all.

  They evaded obstacle after obstacle, while the ground splintered beneath them. And avoiding the dreadful bite of Hookblade was virtually unachievable too, making the upheaval all the more horrific. And just when they thought it couldn’t get any worse, they came to yet another bluff; however this time it was impossible to see what was on the other side, it was ascending so quickly, and they were being led up it, what’s more.

  There was nothing else for it.

  They had to take their chances.

  It was either that or get ground into meal between two massive sarsens.

  They sprang out into the hands of fate; into nothingness, screaming their heads off like raving lunatics. The icy winds blared against their faces as they tore through a mass of cloud. All of a sudden, every map and parchment in William’s pack fluttered into oblivion.

  “ME MAPS!” howled Icrick, when one of the bigger charts plastered itself around his head before flapping away into the travelling breeze.