The Other of One: Book Two

by Brian G. Burke

  “You have Gnomes?” William gasped. “Garden Gnomes, I suppose you mean?”

  “Garden Gnomes?” Percy parroted, with intrigue. “Hmmm, that has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it? Garden Gnomes.”

  Suddenly, a few more scuttled through a cluster of high grasses just behind them.

  They were everywhere, now that they’d come to notice them; all about, in every which way. Suffice it to say, William could never quite get a proper look at any of them. He always spotted them when it was too late, merely snagging a glimpse of their hats, or their boots, as they vanished.

  “Yes, indeed! My Gnomes. They help me with me work around Lythiann. Shy critters they are, so don’t take any offence. Just a moment, did…did you think I lived here all on me own? In this great tree?” laughed the man.

  It then occurred to the Grogoch, and he said, “Ah! So that’s why all the holes were occupied last night. They were full of Gnomes!”

  “That’s right, master Grogoch. I thought Wren would’ve told ye all about them.”

  “No, she didn’t,” said William, taking another sip and not the least bit surprised.

  Then, leaning in closely to William’s ear, Percy whispered, “She’s taken quite a liking to you, you know.”

  He then moderately recoiled with his bushy eyebrows standing high with suggestiveness. William didn’t know how to respond to that unusual comment, as it held a certain personal content which he didn’t expect to be dispensed by a stranger like Percy. Instead, he took an awkward drink of his lemonade, and peered off into space with a callow expression on his face.

  Percy turned to go back inside, when he suddenly remembered something, and said, “Oh! Before I forget. There’s a little shindig tonight, after dinner, in the music hall. It’s just a thing we do every Friday night, to unwind after the week. Used to be a grand celebration when the wife was around, God rest her soul. But we try to keep up the tradition all the same. A few drinks, a few tunes, some finger food. We’d be delighted if ye could join us.” And with a crafty wink to William, he topped it off by saying, “Wren!…and the others will be there, too.”

  Corresponding with a crooked grin, William nodded him on, as if to say, “We’ll be there.”

  You see, in spite of his desires, all of that boy-girl business was completely new to him, and he had no idea what he was going to do about it; if he was brave enough to do anything at all. For following the initial shock of Percy’s tidings—fantastic and all that it was—there came an unfamiliar tingling sensation just high of William’s belly, which slowly inched its way right up through his chest, then up to his throat. All sense of time felt like it was beginning to drag, and drag, and drag, as this breathless apprehension wrung upon his very resolve. He was practically quivering. Nor was it a scared feeling, like what he felt with Valstarius or, perhaps, the Thiagoné. It was more a nervous fear, in that he suddenly became very conscious of how he’d behaved around her in the past, and was trying desperately to pinpoint the specific manner that may have roused her alleged feelings to begin with. He needed to understand it. He didn’t know why exactly. Once again, he was bemused by the whole ordeal. It was all so unforeseen. He then started pleading to himself that he would neither hear nor see her before he felt ready enough to do so, in case he mucked it up when the time came. The poor lad was in a proper muddle, and that’s no lie.

  William was the last to show up for dinner that night, and he did so in such an aloof fashion. He just seated himself with his eyes down and didn’t really speak to anyone. It is astonishing how some chaps unwittingly alter their behaviour once the intimate feelings of another have, so unexpectedly, been brought to their attention.

  In the centre of the dinner table there was a delectable pot of steaming brown stew; a crock of fresh baguettes, golden and crunchy; more crackers and cheese; and more of that same relish from the night before.

  On several occasions Wren attempted to instigate some every day, run-of-the-mill conversation with William, but he couldn’t concentrate with Percy constantly smiling over at him with bulging, remindful eyes. Even his spiders were watching from Percy’s scruffy head, hairy jungle that it was. So, in place of just answering the girl (which would have been a whole lot less embarrassing) he would just smile or nod. Or if the situation absolutely required it, and all eyes were on him, he’d include a grunt, or some involuntary noise, which often happened despite himself, “Hyeuh!” All he really wanted was to take his plate and ooze down gutlessly beneath the table where he could nibble away in peace.

  Wren, funnily enough, was acting quite normally, from what he could tell. But with her being so steadfast, she probably would’ve been very capable of masking such supposed emotions; presuming Percy was, indeed, unmistaken about them to begin with.

  After tidying up, Percy showed them up three flights of stairs to the music hall. But why he called it a ‘hall’ eluded the rest of them completely, because it was merely another cramped chamber in that otherwise vast tree palace. Five fat hippos would have had a better time squeezing into Khrum’s wardrobe.

  Those walls were no more than eight feet by eight feet. The ceiling was about the same height from the ground. Taking up even more room was the cushioned bench that ran round the whole room from one wall to the next. If they all sat down on it, and sprawled out their legs, they would’ve gotten all knotted together and annoyed. Place was a sty. Jam-packed with all sorts of musical instruments, both scattered about on the ground and dangling crookedly from the walls. It was next to impossible to get themselves settled, constantly switching seats and mapping out where to move next. Even Crosco had to stand outside with The Head poking in, as it would have been positively hopeless for him to even try, especially with Ifcus, either on his shoulders or off. To him, the whole situation appeared disgracefully uncomfortable.

  They were all saying things like, “Um…excuse me. Sorry! Can I just move across here? Look, how about you sit here and I sit there? Watch out! Comin’ through! Mind my foot! Watch his fingers!”

  And there was Icrick, in the heart of it all, getting squashed to his knees whilst clutching onto the Symphogram for dear life. You’d swear he was at the foremast of his sinking ship; all he was missing was a cap and his salute. But never once did he leave the Symphogram out of his sight. Even when he had to use the facilities, the Grogoch would heave that awkward contraption onto his shoulders and bring it along with him. He even contracted raw, painful-looking markings from those straps, which just goes to show you how determined he was to do his best. Quite the fellow for the job though.

  With the awkwardness ongoing, the old man soon became aware. He was already rather cosy in his self-allotted corner on the other side of the room.

  “Oh, b’janey, can’t ye get settled?” he asked.

  “Well…” Wren hinted, trying to squeeze past William, with her palms pressed to the ceiling.

  That was quite amusing, incidentally, with her shapely backside wagging just shy of William’s face. He was so nervous, he didn’t know which way to look.

  “Not to worry. I can soon solve that. Leave it to me,” said Percy.

  Clambering over to the wall, he gave it one solid thump with the side of his fist, and yelled, “We need a bit of room in here. Do you mind? We want to have our Christmas celebrations in some bit of comfort, if you please!”

  “Christmas celebrations?” asked The Head. “But Christmas passed by when we were in that nasty, horrible jungle…did it not?”

  “So I’ve been told.” Percy smiled, gesturing to the guilty Wren who just had everyone’s best interests at heart. “Herself told me that ye missed out on it. We can’t be having that, so this Friday’s get-together is going to be a belated festive celebration in honour of ye…me hardworking guests. I know it’s a little late, but I’m sure we can squeeze a bit of craíc out of it all the same, won’t we just? We may even convince ourselves that December 24th has swung about again.”

  Hammering on the wall one more time, he shouted a
second time, “Some room in here, please!”

  It was almost as if the oak was emitting a slow, silent, belly full of wind because the room gradually widened out and out, until they could eventually stretch out as far as they so wished. It yawned out to such a degree that it truly did deserve the title of a hall. There was so much free space that they could’ve stood up and dashed around, with arms flailing, if such a daffy notion struck them.

  The walls continued to groan. Chairs and tables cropped up from the living wood all around. Massive columns sprouted from both the floor and ceiling, only to meet up in the middle and merge, while hundreds of torches germinated magically from their woodwork, before winding around and around the columns themselves, right up to the very ceiling. Entwined with festive holly and flecked in snow, branches thin ‘n’ thick ravelled in from outside and crawled up along the walls, all bearing tiny candles on the tips of their boughs.

  That once tiny room was now brimming with elegance; occupied with more space than they would ever hope to need. Stretching up along either side were two narrow tables. A veranda had also opened out on the eastern wall, leading up a winding way toward the loftier levels of the great oak. Even little Christmas trees had burgeoned here and there, complete with red ribbons and organic baubles. Lastly, on each of the four confines, four knotted fireplaces appeared, royal and tall all pouring out glorious swells, and even more candles danced to every last inch of otherwise empty space. These twinkling lights bequeathed real pleasantness to the hall, and now everything was ready for the party to begin.

  It was so impossibly wonderful, that oak palace; how it magically transformed a once-restricted chamber into a majestic hall, blended from both nature and design. Robin redbreasts, hummingbirds, and kingfishers fluttered in from the forthcoming storm to nest upon the branches. It reminded William of how the old church hall back home used to be prepared for the Christmas Eve party every year. Not that the local church possessed such palpable sorcery, mind you. It was more the traditional sense of kindness and warmth which had him smiling so fondly.

  Icrick was standing beside him with equal amazement. Suddenly William could’ve sworn he saw the padlock on the Symphogram giving a slight judder, so he watched it for a moment, to see. When nothing happened he put it down to a figment of his imagination, and he returned his attention to the hall. There was a lot going on after all.

  As the embellishments of the inner oak were ceasing to unfold, the hall had become all the more occupied, not that William and the others knew of it. For there were masses of crannies and imperfections, in which the little Gnomes could hole up quite secretly. A gang of those tiny beings had already been in there, parading about in their own hidden fashion. They couldn’t really be seen at first, but they could be heard. Squeaky cheers of festivities and happiness, both of male and female, spilled from all of those shrouded nooks; up high and down low. And when the music began, more and more Gnomes could scarcely be spotted out in the open. Whether it was a cap bobbing about behind some furniture, or the hem of a flowery skirt scampering around some corner, William and his merry band knew they were present, and having a ball at that. Soon there was no question of their attendance. Dancing scarves and wagging beards were everywhere they looked. But their faces remained ever veiled, either behind garments or furnishings.

  Also having a whale of a time was Percy. He was twittering out song after song on his wooden piccolo, and skipping around with his elbows high in melody. Sometimes he performed carols; other times he performed ancient Celtic tunes of Lythiann’s yesteryear. Both were endearing and, as he played on, barrel upon barrel of fine ale, fruit juices, and varieties of iced tea were being rolled up a ramp from outside by arms of spindly branches and huge dung beetles, and they kept on coming until there was a great pyramid of casks stacked high in the corner beside the main doorway. Sandwiches and grand mahogany bowls of peanuts, chestnuts, and walnuts were also being brought in and placed on the tables by a long line of worker ants, who then absconded through a small crack below the skirting on the distant end. Roast pigs, and cold cutlets of ham, and beef, were also being brought in and rested decoratively on the tables throughout. The party was afoot, and the Gnomes soon joined in on the music, with the pounding of their drums and bodhràns.

  The jubilant melodies coaxed Wren and the others out of their seats in dance. Icrick sped off out the door, to arrive back minutes later with his Uilleann pipes. He and Percy then kicked off into a blissful reel of the finest Irish fashion and everyone was up and about, jigging and twirling around. Even Ifcus was nodding away merrily to the beat, despite his frail ways.

  William, however, didn’t dance. He was never much good at it, and was painfully aware of it, too. In the past, if he ever tried his hand at dancing, he’d always do so in such a way that his feet would appear glued to one spot while he bobbled up and down, displaying these awkwardly absurd pointing gestures. The sheer embarrassment of it, every time. He usually ended up shuffling backwards to the edge of the floor, where he would sink back into the crowd unnoticed. That didn’t happen this time though, because Wren had him hoisted out of his seat before he could decline.

  “W-Wait…!” shrieked the lad.

  “Come on, don’t be such a misery-martyr!” she said, and laughed. “Could be ages before we get to let loose like this again. Enjoy it with me!”

  William hardly had a choice. He’d been whisked up so fast that he couldn’t decline.

  Skipping along, Wren pecked him on the cheek, and smiled, “Happy belated Christmas, William.”

  Stunned and a little shy, William blushed. “H-H-Happy…um…happy Christmas to you too, Wren.”

  He actually had more fun than he ever would have anticipated. Not only that, but his shyness soon melded into memory, as he danced heartily away with that sprightly lass. Round, and round, and round the floor they pranced, tittering and yowling as the others clapped them on from a surrounding circle. To see William having such a fabulous time with the very girl who seemed to displease him on so many instances bygone was quite astonishing for the others. He truly did appear happier than ever. Almost serene looking.

  On and by that festal eve went. Khrum was guzzling down ale after ale with yearning emotion. Icrick had drank so much that he was out on the veranda, belching miserably, as his intoxication teased his paunch to the brink of a violent regurgitation. Crosco and Ifcus were relaxing in a nearby corner of the hall, munching on relish sandwiches, while William and Wren, as you already know, spent much of their time jigging. What a joyful occasion for all. Even for the Grogoch, all in all. The merriment was just the medicine they needed to treat those scarred sentiments of late.

  It was also pleasing to see how carefree Percy and his Gnomes were as they danced, as though there was never a threat of shadow lingering so ominously over their scenic land. William could but admire their sense of optimism. Smiling to himself, he wished that, somehow, the placid ways of that joyous oak would inspire him into sharing such high spirits. But to cling to such hopes, considering all that was to come, may well cause more harm than good. For no matter how enriching they may seem, soulless dreams can quite easily stray into the foulest of despairs.

  Later, as the tempest sailed in from the north and the jigs had long since dwindled to the more calming sound of Percy’s fiddle, William had noticed Wren making for the veranda at the opposite side of the hall, alone. She must’ve been going out for a breath of fresh air. He was in the company of Khrum and the Dullahan, who were discussing their plans for later future while enjoying a sociable drink for themselves. Icrick, by then, had also returned to the party, though he was seated close by in a drunken sway, with his head churning in his hands and a string of dribble touching the floor. But he soon found his second wind and thus began toying with the idea of having another ale for himself.

  William found himself paying hardly any attention to the conversation. He was far too engrossed within his own notions, and couldn’t stop watching that veranda door. With eac
h second passing to what felt like a drowning hour, his eyes were fixed upon it like a spotter to a branch disturbed, constantly anticipating the return of that one perfect sparrow.

  Soon, time passed out of mind, and still she had not returned. So, after a moment’s hesitation, William decided there was nothing else for it. Downing his apple juice in one swift shot, he excused himself from the others and made way for the veranda with a look of pluckiness in his eye. What he was actually going to say to her once they met, he did not yet know. Spontaneity was the key here, he felt. So the brave young soul leapt boldly into that daring situation, without giving it a second thought. Upon each advancing step, the mixture of tension and adrenaline was testing his already quaking wit, such that he could hear his heartbeat thudding in his eardrums. He could even feel it in his very fingertips. But this was just a mental barrier he needed to overcome.

  He stepped out onto the veranda and saw her standing just outside the door, by the rail of the balcony. Unaware of his presence, she was admiring the land through the sparkle of falling rain. The storm had eased off quite a bit, though it was still sheeting down fairly heavily.

  That canopied veranda had yet another open hearth set just aside the doorway, facing out, to warm those who so wished to enjoy such pleasures as Wren herself was doing that blustery hour. It looked really snug. One could also have considered it somewhat romantic even; with the curtains of rainwater pouring down from the awning, and the golden glow of the fireplace falling warmly upon the bright woodwork. And beyond the rain, Lythiann flickered picturesquely under the fading flashes of pale lightning.

  “Hello!” William squeaked freakishly like a chipmunk, only to ridicule himself behind her back with a sickened expression. He even dribbled a bit, which never happens. “Um…c-can I join you?”

  “Of course. You can do what you like,” Wren answered, appearing as carefree and as relaxed as ever. “It’s beautiful watching the storm from here, where it’s warm and safe.”