The Other of One: Book Two

by Brian G. Burke

  Such a barren place. But it was certainly more alive than any portion of Lythiann.

  The band drew through that marsh water for another stretch, and although Stell’s attire was extremely well looked after, it didn’t seem to bother him much that it was getting ruined in the water. He simply led on without a fuss, all the time keeping his eyes peeled for ruthless things. Extremely thankful, was he, for Jimzin’s company too, because the dragon’s sheer size was enough to deter even the most vicious of common-day swamp creatures. And Stell’s little spear trick would only work up to a point, before the creatures would ignore it and come out hunting no matter what.

  The Elf didn’t let on, but he was really nervous of that place.

  Something once lurked in that marsh, an age ago. A devilish creature that had not been heard of for centuries, but its enduring legend was enough to keep any wanderer wary of their steps.

  “How many know about this meadow, Stell?” Icrick asked, looking to strike up conversation.

  “Just me and one or two other Elf friends of mine,” Stell answered, keeping his eyes on a tactful alert. “Then, of course, there are the animals. To them it is no big secret.”

  “Well, does that include horrible beasties…like Gremlins and such?” asked the Grogoch, hoping that Stell wouldn’t go taking the Mick out of him again.

  “No, no. Not nowadays, at least,” the Elf smiled. “You have no fear there, Icrick, dear Grogoch. Other than the occasional wolf, it is only the commonplace animals who are acquainted with the meadow. And you have no reason to panic about them, either, for I have many effective ways of staving them off. So, I implore you…do not fret.”

  Just then, an emptiness filled the ambience of that vile bog. Icrick came to realise how the grasshoppers were now silent, as were the birds and the buzzing of dragonflies. Even the Caiman were seen abandoning their nests and retreating into those darkly, knotted Root of the Mire.

  As if through some manner of impulsive foreknowledge the Elf halted, his breath held steady. The others halted in turn, when, with a sudden flush of terror, something caught a grip on William’s leg and yanked him below the surface.

  Everyone shot around, and Wren cried, “WILLIAM! WILLIAM, WHERE ARE YOU?!”

  “What happened?” Stell demanded, drawing his spear in a flash. “Where did he get to?”

  Swishing left to right, with her hair gripped in both fists, she panicked. “I don’t know! One second he was here beside me, and the next, he was gone. Pulled under the water I think!”

  Fearing the one true possibility, Stell said to himself, “The water ripples once more.”

  Wading towards those fading ripples, Icrick bawled out, “William! Answer me! Where are you? For heaven’s sake, give us a sign you’re alive!”

  “He can’t have gotten far!” shrieked Khrum. “He was right here…jusht two seconds ago!”

  “Well, that doesn’t say much for where we’re standing now, does it?” The Head pointed out.

  At peril’s gate, they thrashed through the water anyway, calling out William’s name. His master may not have been quite so keen, but even poor Ifcus had his nose to the swell and was whinnying aloud for William to appear. All The Head wanted to do was sprint off. He probably would’ve rolled off by himself, had he the ability.

  Of a sudden, Wren noticed a green gleam in the corner of her eye, and there was William, writhing wildly with Thérn drawn, and he was hacking away at something ravelled around his waist. It was of worn bone, and it was long.

  “WILLIAM!” she cried, freeing her axes as she splashed over to him.

  But he’d already delivered an almighty stab straight into one of the joints, to which the tail released him to his gasping breaths, before slipping back beneath the surface.

  “What was that?!” he said, crouching over his hilt, trying to breathe.

  Then he saw the others cowering back before him. Turning fearfully, he saw a monstrous claw of corroded bone slowly rising over his head. But before it could crush him into grit—which it was undoubtedly about to do—William, driven by pure fear, bounded into a sequence of dexterous flips, with each footfall closely pursued by two massive claws as they scrabbled wildly through the marsh to get him. With one final leap into a fine, reverse somersault, he brandished his sword and pared one of the claws as it lunged at him. Not a good idea. The rest of that colossal beast suddenly exploded from beneath the tide with its raw wings reaching afar. It was so large that it must have, in some way or form, been burrowed beneath the silt all that time; hibernating. And as the creature lifted to a chilling height, the others could but stare as it elevated before them. Their horror permitted little else.

  Craning over them was a dragon of preposterous size, much broader than Jimzin. Skinless, but for a few tattered folds, this Titan had no trace of muscle nor flesh; unclad by any means of natural-born splendour which even the wickedest may sometimes bear. Featureless, but for those hot, festering entrails and serrated bone, together with gauntly wings which wore no webbing, thus compromising its ability to soar. But this beast had no use for such skills, when it had at its disposal pure and utter atavistic power. This creature was known as Erfor, the marsh worm.

  “This cannot be!” Stell cried fearfully, before breaking into a sprint. “We must get onto land. Quickly!”

  Pursuing his lead, they ploughed through the water as hastily as they could.

  “What manner of creature is this?” whined The Head.

  “Its name is Erfor!” Stell cried, “and it is bound to the waters of this marsh. It cannot follow us onto land. So we must make haste to the nearest bank.”

  “But there’s seven of us sure, ‘n’ only one o’ him!” Khrum argued, whose struggling body was fastened tightly in Icrick’s arms. “An’ by the looks o’ him, he’s on his lasht legs. Nought but bone. We can take him. C’mon, let’s go back ‘n’ tackle the swine. Show him we’re not afraid!”

  “Him we cannot challenge,” Stell insisted. “Now move!”

  During their battle through that cumbrous marsh water, Wren, Icrick, and Crosco couldn’t help tumbling every so often. Able to remain somewhat more composed than they, both William and Stell were moving along quite progressively, helping them as they fell.

  Jimzin would have turned and faced Erfor himself, only he wasn’t able enough. So he, as with the others, rushed through the fen in search of the forest bank of the Mire. Their bellows and calls were an amalgam of chaos and panic.

  “GO! GO!” they shrieked. “It’s gaining on us…Which way?…Towards the bank….Help me up…Move faster…Get to land!…I’m wringing!” (That last one was Crosco)

  Bellowing, as of a roaring composition from a chorus of heinous armies, that mutilated monster thrashed after them, quaking the very ground beneath their already stumbling feet.

  Poor Wren was last in line and she stumbled face-first into the shallows. William scrambled back to her aid, but a massive talon had already clasped onto her ankles and was hauling her off. She gasped and gulped, thrashing madly in an attempt to keep her head above water. But before the fiend could claim her, William leapt to her rescue. He gripped both her arms and tried tugging her to freedom, but the dragon was too dominant.

  Erfor snapped and champed at him, forcing William to duck and weave with nail-biting closeness. He wanted to heave as desperately as he could, but Wren looked to be in enough pain as it was, and he didn’t wish to injure her by persisting. He had to devise some other way of freeing her before their enemy could prevail.

  “Help me, William!” she winced. “He’s crushing…my…legs!”

  “Just hang on!” the boy cried, and with his right hand, he tried reaching for the sword on his left hip, all without losing his grip on Wren.

  He could just about feel the pommel teasing his fingertips, when Thérn stirred violently in its sheath, making it ten times harder. Wren’s sleeve was slipping through his fingers. He couldn’t hold on.

  “Help…me!” she cried, with a look
in her eyes which cried of supreme terror.

  Straining almost to the point of collapse, William groaned through gnashing teeth, “Almost…there!”

  The dragon had almost won his morbid tug of war, but before William’s heart could recoil, a mighty charge crashed in from the side, ramming Erfor back into the fen some fifty feet away. Jimzin, ailing or otherwise, had butted him right in the ribs. William and Wren were thrown back too, headfirst into the water, but they quickly resurfaced, unharmed, and stole from the tide as hastily as their legs would go.

  The evil dragon scrambled to his feet. Jimzin roared out with a fantastic cry of warning in his path. Taking his stance in defiance of this threat, Erfor leered at Jimzin as they stood head-to-head, necks stooped low, both in readiness to lunge. Standing high, the foul beast then erupted with a cry of his own, terrifying to the ear, as his emaciated neck wagged left and right before the night’s curling mists. Jimzin’s challenge had been accepted.

  The others had finally made it to the nearest bank, yet there was hardly any room at its brink to stand. They kept slipping on the sludge and splashing into the marsh. Nor could they navigate into the actual Roots of the Mire, because that black forest was beyond copious and nightmarishly hazardous; an impenetrable wall of roots and bark. But they needed to do something, and as soon as they found bare enough sanctum on that sodden brink to fit them all, they squashed in tightly together until something better sprung to mind.

  Wren was so worried for her Bondite that an age of twisted trepidation furrowed her brow.

  “What about Jimzin?” she screamed. “What about my dragon? We can’t leave him here! I thought you said this way would be safe, Stell!”

  “This is the first time anyone has heard of this dragon in centuries,” the Elf appealed, as he hacked at the twisted trees behind him in search of better terrain. “Last I heard he had been obliterated by the dark one over some dispute. And I myself have been this way many a time since. I do not understand it, sweet Rose. The news must have been false!”

  “Or maybe that’s what Drevol wanted folk ta think,” the leprechaun added, twigging the prospect of a more devious nature. “Keepin’ his accursed guard-dog a secret until the likes o’ us try crossin’ his swamp would be my guess! Ha?”

  “You may be onto something there!” replied the Elf, wondering if he’d yet realised Thérn’s presence.

  They hacked away at the forest’s edge, while those fearsome beasts circled one another, slowly, with their sullen snarls emphasising their very hatred as it stewed upon a blazing lust for ultimate victory. Jimzin galloped at his opponent and, in employing brutish force, he again butted Erfor viciously into the chest, sending him back some paces…but also into an even viler temper. Rattling his head, the villain roared the very tide into breakers before charging back at the scarlet one.

  Gripped by the action, Icrick gasped with excitement, “Look! Look everybody. Jimzin’s actually putting up a fearsome fight. Could he possibly beat him do ye think?”

  “Difficult to say, Icrick,” the Elf said, turning to see. “I hope he can! Either way, nobody can deny his courage.”

  It was a savage battle. Blow-for-blow the dragons attacked, and while Jimzin was the smaller of the two, he was indeed giving his enemy a hefty challenge. Massive tails swept through the water, talons scraped, and jaws gorged, as each assault was accompanied by fearsome growls and demoniac, raging snarls.

  “Get him, Jimzin! Get him!” Wren urged, still hardly bearing to look.

  But even with Jimzin’s valiant attempt, Erfor remained the bigger of the two.

  He carved his rough talon through the webbing of Jimzin’s left wing, and snapped his repugnant jaws down onto his neck. They twisted and kicked until Erfor had finally gotten Jimzin’s head beneath the water; the perfect opportunity to barrel himself into a vicious death-roll. Jimzin tried to push his opponent away, but Erfor just pinned him every time. William may not have known Jimzin as well as he would’ve liked, but the dragon was still a part of his alliance, so his heart went out to him when he saw him being broken by this rotten demon.

  Agony overcame Jimzin’s face and, for the first time, he seemed truly helpless and scared, peering at Wren in a manner that was distressing to see. Just then, Erfor rattled his neck like a rabid dog till the Bondite went almost limp.

  “NO! PLEASE!” Wren implored. “YOU’RE KILLING HIM! LEAVE HIM BE,” when a sudden arrow whizzed past her ear and skewered itself deep into Erfor’s gut.

  Stell had given Jimzin the tiny window of opportunity he needed to get away. But it came at a price. The Elf fell to his knees, gripping his stomach.

  “What’s the matter, Stell?” William exclaimed. “Are you hurt?”

  Peering up at the boy, the Elf revealed an elderly visage; that of an old man. Somehow he looked to have aged a dozen Elfish centuries in seconds.

  Erfor hobbled away from Jimzin, though he was not defeated by any means. He wrenched the arrow from his gut with an excruciating bawl. Jimzin took his chance and escaped into the skies without notice.

  He was nowhere to be seen and all went still. Erfor probed the marsh for his rival. Yet all was not at a loss for this fiend, because our heroes were still trapped at the brink of the marsh, and it was only a matter of time before he’d spotted them.

  “Stell, what happened? What did this?” William whispered, as he held the decrepit Elf together.

  Laying his head in the boy’s arms, Stell wheezed, “The…curse. The curse of the…dragon, Erfor.”

  “What curse?” Icrick whimpered, looking in.

  “Never can his innards be…struck by any weapon…forged by man,” Stell wheezed, toiling with his words. “If they are, then the assailant themselves…will…turn….to…bone. But it…was the only way to help…your dragon.”

  “Well, what can we do?” William panicked. “Can the curse be stopped? What has to be done?”

  Straining to muster a breath, Stell gasped, “Erfor…must…be…destroyed!”

  “How?! How do we destroy him if we can’t even attack his insides?” William begged, only to do so in vain.

  Little by little, Stell’s eyes sunk back into his skull, while his skin peeled into dust.

  “We could never take down this creature, William! Not us alone,” said Wren. “With such a curse, we would burn through an entire battalion before Erfor eventually fell.”

  Then, with a tremendous screech over Wren’s words, Khrum suddenly yelled, “Better think o’ somethin’ fasht, lads, ‘coz here he comes!”

  With a tree-rattling gallop, Erfor powered through the waves towards them. But they were blocked in by that horrid woodland, and had a casualty in their arms. There was nothing they could do.

  Frightening was Erfor’s cry as he closed in, for the hostility which had once derived from hunger alone was now fused with the detestation for those who’d unleashed their reptilian ally against him.

  Scrabbling at the wild growth, Crosco bawled, “Oh, we’re done for now. May God have mercy on our souls!”

  But then a petrifying cry roared from afar, and Jimzin came soaring through the shroud of thick cloud like a hawk. His enemy turned in shock to meet a fusillade of Jimzin’s scorching flame. Shielding his innards hopelessly with his fleshless wings, Erfor twisted from the blaze and, in his retreat, Jimzin snatched the vile creature in his talons and, with all of his might, hoisted him from the marsh and up into the air.

  As Jimzin beat his magnificent wings, they all watched in awe, as he defied the very absence of his strength before releasing Erfor from a height, into the awry trees of the marshland forest beneath. A distant, discordant howl vented therein; traced by a shrill, flaring blast. All chaos had diminished. At last, Erfor the marsh worm had been dragged from his boundaries into his own ruin.

  The Elf was terrified to see what he might’ve become. He slowly took his trembling hands from his face. They were young again. His scourge of aging had graciously been reversed. Jimzin then landed in beside them
. He’d been terribly scuffed, bruised, and half-drowned, but it was all far from fatal, thank the stars.

  “Oh, well done, Jimzin!” Wren said excitedly, hugging his neck. “And you found your fire, at last! Perhaps that’s why you were sick? The fire was looking for a way to get out. Oh, show me again, Jimzin. Please!”

  Standing to a safer distance, and sucking in a confident wind, Jimzin was set to spout a tremendous flare, only to spit out a few meagre smoke rings. Again, he tried. Then once more. But there was not even a spark to be seen, upsetting him immensely.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry, Jimzin. It must have been a once-off,” Wren regrettably uttered. “But look on the bright side…it was better than nothing.”

  “Yes. You shouldn’t lose face, my scaly companion,” Icrick added. “It shows that you have it on you. And your fire may yet come, in…”

  “…time,” William ended, with a wink.

  “Precisely!” Wren smiled. “So cheer up, you big oaf! It’s not all bad. And you taught that blasted Erfor a thing or two, didn’t you?”

  Jimzin could but agree that it was a damn sight better than anything he’d managed yet. Nevertheless, now that the excitement had died back into normality, the young dragon was feeling sickly again.

  Approaching him with a smile, Stell spoke, “Still not feeling the best, eh? Well, we shall tend to you as soon as we arrive at the meadow. Lots of remedial foliage there for you to chew on. And, let me tell you, I cannot thank you enough for coming to my aid back there, dear drake. A few seconds more and I would have been sailing into the wind…like ash!”

  Then, peering into the north breeze, he muttered, “What a discouraging thought.”

  “And that was a very brave thing you did, Stell,” Wren commended. “We thank you a thousand times over!”

  Humbly, the Elf replied, “Oh, I’ll hear nothing of it. It was not done so much out of heroism as it was out of good, old, common morality. Anyone else would have done the same thing, I’m sure.”

  They wondered if this was true. Especially if one was as aware of the bitter consequences, as Stell clearly was. The dear fellow truly did put his life on the line for Jimzin, no matter what he believed himself. Conversely, if not for Jimzin, then Stell would have been done for, too. Hence, the downfall of Erfor, and the saving of their hides, would not have come to light had it not been for that audacious joint effort of theirs.