“…of the Goblin will be forever extinguished!” Icrick concluded.
“Correct.” Stell nodded. “Thereby ridding a certain foe of their allegiance, for good.”
Barging in crudely on their conversation, Khrum said, “So, with all this blatherin’ on about neshts ‘n’ Goblin cities, I take it our path is a bit of a thick plan on our part, eh?”
“It’s safe to say so, yes,” answered the Elf. “Those creatures will remain within their own frontiers, unless they have already migrated to the dark canyons to seek shelter from the southern sandstorms. Either way, their borders still adjoin with those of Lòr….so evil will never be too far away. You are best off giving that region a wide berth while you can, otherwise your crossing will not be long in falling ill. No, if I were you, I would go the northern route, via the arid country. Not very charming, I admit. But you will find far less atrocities upon that route than you will anywhere else.
“Anyway, why are you even going eastward at all? Whatever about the rest of you but, to me, you seem like a stranger to these counties, William. But there is no need to tell me if I am right or wrong about that…none of my business. All I can tell you is that someone of particular disfavour rests in those parts. Someone who you would not wish to meet.”
“You mean Drevol Briggun? The ‘certain foe’ you were on about before?” William interrupted, making Stell very anxious.
“Oh, nooo! Speak not of that name around me, if you please! Not here, and especially not in front of my father,” he implored, caressing the wall, as if apologizing to it.
“Why not?” asked The Head. “You look like a fearless warrior, all geared up and armoured to the teeth. What are you afraid of?”
“Fearless?” Stell smiled, with much obligation. “To be branded so by another is a royal commendation indeed, my dear friend. I thank you very much. Still, appearances can be deceiving. While valiancy amongst the Elves is but a trait of those who have fought in momentous battles, legends of our kind, I have not yet fought in such a war. I wear these colours, dear Crosco, simply as camouflage, and I carry these weapons for my own little cause here. And though I may appear so to you, there really is nothing fearless about me at all. But that’s not to say that I do not yearn to be.” And, fading to a whisper, he muttered to himself, “But for those haunting terrors which restrain my ambitions to be so.”
Emerging from that rather isolated thought, he continued, “As for that demon. Were it not for him and those beasts which he unleashed, then my father would probably still be in Elf form to this day. And I fear him because he is fear. Even the vilest of things that stride freely over these lands are but kittens in contrast to his sinful ways. Yet that is not to say that they should be taken lightly either. With such countless dangers about…and beasts all hunting in packs for fear of greater, ghastlier, rivals…nobody in their right mind would ever so much as consider intruding upon his realm. Nobody!”
Pausing with sudden horrific realisation, Stell then asked, “Wait! Tell me not that you wish to…seek him out?!”
Sensing deep within Stell’s disposition at that very moment a formidable surge of hidden longing and latent goodwill, William wondered if he should be so bold as to disclose the nature of his quest to the Elf.
Bizarre, that sensation was. Like William was meant to include this stranger in their dealings, irrespective of Stell’s evident trepidation towards the greater evil.
As this unusual awareness of inner trust magnified all the more, William embraced his instinct and glanced at Icrick for consent, to which the Grogoch consented unquestionably. What’s more, having had immense faith in Icrick, his earlier appraisals of Ewval’s legend just augmented William’s desire to involve he who was spawned from the bloodline of that very hero. But whether Stell had inherited such intrepid traits himself was unknown, for he obviously did not believe so himself.
William trusted his judgment and went on to tell the Elf about how he tumbled down a hole, and met a beautiful woman who imparted details of his quest at hand. Out of respect for Anun’s wishes, he was very careful not to disclose any particulars which could perhaps jeopardize her or the Grollo. Eagerly, the Elf hung off every word. Fervent as he appeared, he couldn’t help trembling at the very mention of Gremlins and shape-shifters, whilst pacing nervously to and fro. But by the risk of grievances or not, once Icrick spoke of the divine prophecies and the coming of the eclipse, the Elf felt compelled to assist, as if it was his duty.
How he intended to assist them was through guidance. To place them on a more cordial path. That way he could go back to guarding his wall with the comfort of knowing that they were on a far friendlier road. But it would only remain hospitable for a time, before they’d be coerced into confronting other threats of the deeper east.
Packing up a few possessions, Stell plucked some fruit from the yew tree before leading the group northeast towards the far foothills of the mountainside. They may not have known this fellow long enough to understand him, but this goodwill of his was, in actual fact, Stell Crimpleton through-and-through. Many who knew him considered him ‘the obliging Elf,’ who wouldn’t dream of abandoning a deprived soul, even at the risk of his own hide. And yet there was a strange sense of conflict about him, something repressed. Like he was adamant on helping them, even though he was terribly anxious about it, which alone could be deemed very brave. Nor was he without a sense of modesty.
All that said, warm-hearted and as tame as a puppy, Stell Crimpleton was a genuine asset to their assembly. But the question stood as to whether his companionship would remain or not. Even so, they were just glad of his help, even if it was just for a brief time.
* * *
Darkness arrived rather unexpectedly that evening, and it was bitterly gusty amongst the low mountain knoll where they’d settled. Its outer rim was infested with ottoman-sized toadstools and, were it not for the four hulking megaliths upon the hillcrest providing some shelter, they probably would’ve contracted pneumonia, or worse, because a terribly murky drizzle was blowing in from behind; rain which kept worsening as the night lumbered on. And one thing they’d come to notice about their journey was, the closer they got to their final destination, the worse the nightly weather was getting. Ever since the tempest, there was something about those latterly evenings that took a dull turn, rarely granting them an evening of serenity or comfort. Be it rain, wind, or frost, the conditions were growing steadily worse. William once regarded their outset as being gruelling and pitiless, but those days were heavenly in contrast to these devilish nights. Those early days seemed like an eternity ago, when his quest didn’t feel so daunting, and there was less evil in the air. But now evil was in the air, on those eves of late; muttering through the winds like nefarious ghouls upon their descending flight into the unfathomable pits of the lowermost dungeons of darkness.
Then there was William. Something about this mission was, ever so slowly, beginning to take its toll upon him. The durations of night, mostly. Nightfall was most unforgiving those days, he found. They’d been getting more and more difficult to tolerate. Twilight after twilight; as with each dying day, he was finding it harder and harder to fall asleep, for it was after dark…and after dark only…that his tribulations and anxieties truly came to plague him. Curious to say, the exact same notions would dawdle, quite harmlessly, through his mind all the livelong day. It was only when the moon appeared, and everyone else was asleep, that his idle mind would terrify him with those same doubtful ideas. Of course, each night, after a spell of wearisome pondering, he would eventually drift off. But it always felt extremely late by then, and William would never remember shutting his eyes.
Whenever he awoke, those mornings, his head would be absolutely throbbing with a raw, wincing migraine. A set of dull knives skewering into the top of his skull would have been less painful. It was only ‘round midday that the pain would subside, thereby allowing him to carry on relatively contentedly with the afternoon ahead. He never once mentioned this to the ot
hers. That was William, though…obstinate, reserved, and self-sufficient. But then bedtime would soon be upon him again, and he would be forced to bear yet another night of desolate wakefulness. On account of its prevalence, he was growing all the more accustomed to it. I don’t expect he had much choice.
After reaching those megaliths - the Watchers of Greybarrow, as they were known - they decided to lay low till dawn.
“We shan’t find better shelter for further miles, beyond the Bog of Shadows,” said Stell, examining the liths with an approving nod, “so we’ll stop here for the evening. In the morrow, when the sun brightens our vista, I’ll point you in the right direction. Then I must leave you and return to my own affairs. Oh, and best not light a fire, either. Gláin’s Kort is Brownie country, and the last thing we want is a run-in with those scum-toads!”
Everyone, save Icrick, began laying out their blankets.
You see, he’d heard of these Brownie creatures on many previous occasions, and he wasn’t so sure if Stell’s portrayal of them was entirely fair; so he was inclined to ask the Elf more about them.
Thus, while mindful of what little he knew of these creatures, he said to Stell with vague certainty, “But Brownies are only wood Elves, are they not? They aren’t dangerous.”
A clumsy error to make on Icrick’s part, because Elves are not known for passing up such golden opportunities for some playful trickery.
With that, Stell went, “Brownies? Not dangerous? Now that is certainly something I would like to believe. Other than the dark one, there is not a more dangerous imp upon these lands than the infamous Brownie! Come now, Icrick. I would’ve expected you to be a little wiser than that.”
Knowing full well that Stell was only toying with him, Khrum, William, Wren, and the Dullahan kept unpacking and left them to it. What harm could it do? they figured.
Throwing in more and more details of horror and gore, Stell ranted ceaselessly about the foulness that was the notorious Brownie. Icrick, however, persisted in defending their innocence. Obviously, he knew scarcely anything about them; only what he’d heard in stories. And there was no Brownie to have lived in the Grollo to which he could refer to support his claim.
Sticking to his principles anyway, the Grogoch replied civilly, “Nope, you’re wrong! I’ve heard nothing but good about the Brownies! Nothing but good, I say!”
Now, to suggest that the Brownies are ‘good’ would be a complete case of misjudgement altogether. Fair enough, they may not have been as aggressive as Stell made them out to be, but they are devious little thieves who hide well in the shadows, slithering about and listening to whatever an unwary traveller has to say.
Icrick said no more in the hope that his stern say would bring their debate to a close, and went about spreading out his blanket. But Stell refused to surrender so easily. Quite the joker was he (when there was no real threat abroad), and such an addition was welcomed by the group during such dark times.
Standing tall, with a serious look on his face, the Elf asked, “You mean to say you have never heard of The Lick O’ The Brownies?”
A dreadful mess nearly shot out of Khrum’s nose when he heard this, but Icrick never caught on.
“Oh, yesss!” the Elf continued, as the other fellow laid out his blankets for himself. “The dreaded, Lick O’ The Brownies. The wood Elves’ curse. They say that, should anyone ever come in contact with a Brownie, it is best you steer clear. Because if you get too close, he will pounce on you and try to lick you!”
“A lick? Pfff!” Icrick retorted, with a brazen chuckle. “Is that all?”
“Yes. A lick. One lick. That’s all it requires.” answered Stell, with grim earnestness.
Suddenly, as Icrick was staring at the Elf with a fix of sudden doubt, the wind picked up and rattled the nearby bushes. Then, brave front or not, the Grogoch’s thoughts slipped into a stream of paranoia which, together with his sudden fidgeting, openly displayed his agitation.
“Aw, this is just cruel!” Wren mumbled as she turned in, but not without a grin.
With Icrick’s undivided attention in the palm of his hand, Stell slowly walked towards him, saying, “Icrick, you must never let a Brownie lick you, for their poison works slowly. At first, it feels like little more than an itch. After that, it escalates into a rash which, in turn, induces extreme fatigue. Then, before you know it, you’re asleep…in a deep, deep slumber. But that is not the worst of it, no! Because…when you arise the following morning…you will arise to find that, wherever the Brownie licked you…will no longer be there. It will have just melted away in the midst of your dreams!”
Suddenly he clapped his hands, scaring Icrick into a shudder.
Practically on the brink of tears, the Grogoch exclaimed, “Oh, leave me alone, you big meany! I’m going to sleep!”
He then grabbed the Symphogram, flung his head under his blanket, and there he trembled, as the others chortled to themselves.
William saw the funny side too, but he could not deny pity for the creature. Poor Icrick was always the brunt of some joke, he thought, yet he tried unconditionally to do his best for them all the same. But Stell’s tale was just a harmless bit of merriment really, and he didn’t mean any real harm. All he intended to do was stir up some cheer among the group because he had never seen faces so glum. But it didn’t quite go according to plan.
“He scares easily.” Stell whispered to the others. “I was hoping he’d see the funny side of it too. I feel guilty now. Bother! I’d apologise…only…I wouldn’t say that I’m, at present, his favourite person. Perhaps I should let him sleep it off and I’ll confess come morning?”
“Try not ta worry, he’s resilient,” smiled Khrum. “Good trick, though! The Lick O’ The Brownies, indeed! Genius.”
“Why thank you, Khrum,” Stell sniggered, laying next to one of the liths. “My father used to say, ‘ridding a heart of grief often works best at the expense of another.’ So long as it doesn’t go too far.”
“Hear hear!” applauded Crosco.
Even the mulish Head seemed to be rather fond of the Elf, which really says a lot for Stell’s affability.
“Many thanks, my dear horse-rider,” Stell said graciously. “Still, I fear I may have done just that with poor Icrick there. Yes, come morning, I shall apologise. Make things right again.”
As innocent as he intended his whole charade to be, you can see that Stell had become rather concerned over Icrick’s feelings towards him. That merely augmented all the more how placid in disposition he actually was. As if he greatly feared someone to hold a bad impression over him. That’s why he wanted to resolve matters so quickly.
When the fun was over, they all laid down their heads, and soon they were fast asleep. Even William was amongst those slumbering heads, and the hours passed into the otherwise foul conditions of that bleak and wintry evening.
With the grey of cloud rallying itself before the blackening night, William suddenly shouted, “WAKE UP! WAKE UP!”
Rising like a shot, Stell was instinctively loaded and peering down the sight of his bow.
“What is it, William?” he whispered, with a nervousness which he desperately tried to keep at bay. “What did you see?”
He then noticed how Ifcus and Crosco were wandering about too, while the dim glow of The Head was probing amongst the shadows beside him. The rest of the group were glancing about with sleepy heads, unsure of whether they were dreaming or not.
“What’s the matter?” Stell asked again. “You hear something? See something?”
Anxiously rummaging through his belongings, William exclaimed, “My satchel. It’s gone! I woke up and it was gone!”
“What?” cried Icrick, kicking down his covers and waddling over to William. “Oh, confound it all! Where could it be? Half of my things were in that satchel. And my tools. Oh, my wonderful tools!”
“You’ll still be able to guide us eastward though, won’t you, Icrick?” asked Wren.
“Well…yes,” the Grogoch
replied in a fluster. “Once I find my bearings on Stell’s new road I should be fine. But that’s not the point! Much of my time went into fabricating those implements. So much valuable time and effort.”
Just then, a twig snapped under the veil of darkness, and as an act of supreme reflex, Stell snatched The Head from Crosco’s hand and flung it in that general direction before rapidly aiming his bow after it.
As The Head twirled into that daunting darkness, he screeched, “WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?”
Flying into the abyss, he lit up the shadows with his radiant emerald shine.
Dozens of creatures were exposed by the light. The Head had bumped into one of their shoulders and was trundling into the high grass by their feet. The creatures just stood there, all huddled together, gazing at William and the others.
“Brownies!” Stell exclaimed, and Icrick covertly scarpered for cover.
Their beady eyes flared in the light as they gawked in. That lovat glimmer gave them an altogether haunting look. Brownies were scraggy beings, of Grogoch height, with huge, flaccid ears and giant noses that ran right back over their foreheads. And they all had the same stupidly curious expression upon their faces.
“THE DRINK BAG!” Khrum yelled, pointing at one of the Brownie’s hands and, sure enough, there was the satchel. “JUMP THE HOOLIGANS!”
The Brownies scattered the second they charged. Slippery mites indeed. Nor did they seem very smart (which was a good thing) because, instead of running away with the plunder, they just scurried ‘round and ‘round the stones, constantly keeping to the shadows, with their throats emitting disgusting clicking sounds, like crabs.
“Do they think we’re playing with them or something?” William sulked, as he twisted and turned.
“They’re Amadans! They don’t know what they’re at,” cried Wren, and she couldn’t have been more right.
Ifcus tried his hardest to snag himself a Brownie, but the poor fellow didn’t have a hope, being as sluggish as he was. Meanwhile, Crosco had retrieved The Head and was striding after them with massive steps, swinging and lunging, yet they evaded every strike. Wren, luckily enough, had caught ahold of two. But in seeing his friends in distress, another Brownie sprung at her face and wrapped his gangly legs about her head until she released her grip on them. They then darted back to their comrades who were still scuttling in and out of the liths and shadows. Even Stell was having a testing time trying to land himself a Brownie.
The Other of One: Book Two Page 9