Wren got a fine hoot out of seeing him like this, even though she was just as soaked.
As they scuttled about, packing up their baggage, there was Ifcus, still half-asleep and sopping wet as he tried to climb back into his harness. He was making a right hames of it too, but after gathering up all their food, Crosco came to help him and, more sooner than not, he had the horse all strapped in and slung safely to his back.
Running near enough the cliff’s edge, with random glances over the lip, Icrick beckoned, “Come on! Follow me! Follow me, I say! The path’s not far!”
One after another they pursued, and the brilliance of the pallid moon was misting through the intense downpour. Swiftly they jogged, until Icrick finally got to scouting more closely and more cautiously, like he was nearing the vicinity of this so-called path of his.
“Here! Down here!” he shouted excitedly, pointing down the precipice. “Let’s go!”
Ceasing in their trot, they all looked at one another with confusion, fearing that poor Icrick might have gone completely cuckoo, because nothing was there. They assumed he wanted them all to jump and hopefully land into the cordiality of some frail branches like before, or something daft like that.
“In case ya haven’t noticed, I forgot ta pack my wings,” sulked Khrum, flapping his skinny arms and spraying water everywhere.
“What are you on about now, for flip sake?” snapped Icrick.
“I can’t see any bloody path! That’s what I’m on about, ya nutter!” the leprechaun retorted.
“Bah, stand over here beside me and use your eyes, will you?” grouched the Grogoch.
Congregating about him, everyone peered cautiously over the lip. Soon they began to distinguish this path to which he was referring, but some of them had to tilt their heads and narrow their eyes a bit. Turned out the trail was a cleverly hidden pathway which graduated from the precipice, and only from an absolutely precise angle could it be seen, like an optical illusion.
A daunting route it seemed nevertheless, for it was exceptionally high up and shockingly thin. But the rain was jetting straight down now, and with considerable force, thereby leaving their options scarce. Had there been any shelter on the late trail they would’ve gladly chosen that over this. But because they’d spent a majority of the afternoon walking an isolated plateau, they knew that backtracking would be pointless. And the risk of falling ill by trying to outlast the rain would have been an act of complete lunacy altogether.
Being untimely impressed by the illusion below, Wren laughed, “That’s fierce clever, isn’t it? The way it’s hidden like that.”
Lifting the Symphogram from his back and wrapping it in his comfort cloak, Icrick replied through those noisy conditions, “Took me a while…but I found it! Told ye I would!”
“Well, stop admiring it and go so,” moaned The Head. “Standing around here yapping about it like it’s mid-July won’t do us any good. My armour is filling up like a teapot over here!”
A valid argument, so down that hazardous way they crept.
The path was an absolute nightmare; set in the sort of terrain which would come back to haunt you. In sections it was terribly steep, whereas, in others, dreadfully narrow. Either way, it left little to their sense of courage. Also, because the path was horrifically thin, it meant they could only walk one abreast. The rain, too, was making it even more unstable and slick, otherwise meaning that any false move could send them into a long, devastating drop into the murky forests of below. Other sections, not many, were broad and fairly even, and could be challenged swiftly enough. Yet for the most part, that fickle route had them moving along virtually on their backsides, coercing them to shuffle uncomfortably, using their palms and soles for traction.
Icrick went first, and being the fidgety Grogoch, he felt safer doing this in reverse, on his belly. He ended up pulling the Symphogram after him, inch by inch. He might’ve found it less scary, but it looked terribly dangerous to the others, as he couldn’t entirely see where he was going. Even Stell had to warn him, more than once, to watch his step, because there were moments where he was shuffling awfully close to the edge.
Third in line was William, with Wren in front of him, and he was extremely sceptical about going this way. The ground was hazardously sludgy in places, which was hardly surprising. It was but a dirt trail, and the rain was like a cascade of continental proportions gushing down upon them. They could barely see in front of their own faces, it was so bad. Stell was also on the verge of panic; the slippery mud permeating through his fingers. His boots were slipping more frequently, too.
Sounding rather surly, for the first time since they’d known him, he quivered, “I don’t question your effort, Icrick. However, I do not believe this is the appropriate weather for negotiating such old cliff paths! I think that, perhaps, taking our chances with the rain would’ve been the friendlier choice. Let alone healthier!”
Crosco was probably the worst off, carrying a bulky steed on his back. His grip was also impeded, in that he had The Head to take care of above all things. The only way he could stabilize himself was by anchoring his left hand against the wall, which meant dangling The Head high over the forest, far, far below to his right, to balance himself out.
As bright as ever, The Head glared down and squeaked, “I agree with the Elf! We have to do something about this. Soon!”
Then, as if it was the first time he’d spoken in an age, William suddenly reported, “Look! Over there! Do you see it?”
“What? What is it?” Wren replied, squinting through the downpour.
Not too far up ahead, on a bend in the path, was a cave of some sort. Or at least the mouth of a shallow hollow. William’s eyesight must have indeed been prodigious, because nobody, aside from the Elf, could make it out.
“A cave! Well spotted, William!” said he, who was positioned two places behind, with Khrum on his shoulder.
He was about to reach forward and pat William on the back, when he felt a great power driving against his back. Turning his cheek into a rushing force that was now flooding violently over his shoulders, Stell sat helplessly as a barrage of muddy water rushed over them from behind, and it was well on its way to pushing them, with grave rapidity, down along the slope. No one expected it. No one even heard it, with the might of growing wind.
With dangerous unpredictability, it washed our heroes down that spindly way. Their hearts suppurated for fear of being tossed over the lip. They tumbled, and twisted, and spluttered; clawing at the precipice as often as they could, in the hope of either getting lodged in some crack, or getting caught in an innermost current, which would see them safe of the outer rim.
They rushed nearer and nearer to the bend, when Icrick spluttered through the cascade, “The cave! I can see it!”
Grabbing onto Wren, he cried, “Everyone! Grab ahold of the person next to you!”
He then forced a violent cracker from his buttocks, screeching out, “NOW, TILT LEFT! TILT LEFT! TILT LEFT!”
Through the muscle of the Grogoch’s gas, together with their linking arms, they managed to propel themselves through the current of rushing water and towards the way of the cave, whereby the fusion of both forces catapulted them inside as the mudslide went crashing around the bend and down into a fissure to the trees far below. You can rest assured that they each thanked their lucky stars for Icrick and his little ‘problem’ once they got inside that cavern.
Resting herself against the wall, gasping for air, Wren panted, “That was some of the quickest thinking I’ve ever seen, Icrick. My hero!”
“I never thought I had it in me, to be honest.” replied the Grogoch, rather chuffed.
“Oh, believe me, ya always had those screechers in ya, boss,” said Khrum, with a distasteful sniff. “It was just a matter o’ puttin’ them ta good use. Bravo!”
“We would’ve gone right down that crack, too, if it wasn’t for you! Well done, Icrick,” said William, and Stell and the Dullahan expressed their gratitude thereafter.
“Not at all!” Icrick replied proudly. “My…ahem…pleasure. All in a day’s work.”
They discovered the cave to be very deep inside. It went right into the depths of the cliff. Its only inhabitant was a small desiccated tree, sprouting inward from the rock. It wasn’t just any old tree, either. It was a Fàla tree, a special bush which only grew in secret places, and was almost as rare as the platinum-encrusted diamonds of the Barthuìn mines.
About the size of a young mulberry bush, the Fàla has a secret, in that, when you burn its sappy wood, it will blaze strongly and continue to do so for weeks on end. Most of the time, it has to be extinguished using sand or dirt, as even water is too weak to quench its flame. The old fisherman divers of the southeast once utilized its fiery boughs to search in dark, subaquatic caves for endangered fish and precious pearls. It was an amazing plant, really. For the sake of its protection, however, one was only permitted to use what they so needed, by ancient law of the Free Age. If one required the whole tree, for some sort of grave emergency, they would at least be expected to leave its roots out of respect for its preservation. Knowledgeable of the wilds, Stell explained this to them.
Other than the Fàla tree, the cave was completely empty, save for some loose rocks and, luckily enough, a few strewn clumps of flint stone, which Icrick happily added to his own supplies. And when Stell clipped two thick branches off the tree, Icrick set them alight with a scraping of lichen which he’d scavenged from the marshes some days ago. It set a nice red glow to the cave, the heat reflecting cosily off the walls, and it warmed up the place in no time. Removing their wet outer layers, they hung them off the tree for drying.
Wren left her layers on, and was watching Ifcus who was being helped out of his harness by Crosco. When the horse had finally gotten free of it, he plodded over to a corner for himself, where he curled up into a ball, with his chin resting snugly upon the ground. The poor steed, it seemed, was completely worn out from the toil of that mudslide. Thus, no better way for him to remedy it than with a proper snooze inside a nice, comfy cave.
Their garments hung, the others set out their blankets and joined Wren by the fire. Again she was sort of squirming, like her shoulder was at her.
“You’re always at that,” William pointed out. “You have a problem with your back or something?”
“Ah, just a bad shoulder,” she grunted. “I’ll live. I’m famished, again! Suppose another quick bite is out of the question? All this excitement can make one’s tummy sag.”
A fair excuse; so Stell took the rump from Crosco’s supply and shaved off some thin slices for a late-night snack.
“Anything for the patient,” he sniggered. “Your shoulder is all right though, yes? You’re not injured?”
“I’ll be fine, honestly. It’s an old wound,” Wren replied, her focus still on the Dullahan, and eventually she brought herself to say, “Crosco, I have a question…”
“Yes? What is it?” groaned the old Dullahan, resting himself on his blanket.
“I’m sorry to inquire,” said she. “I know it’s none of my business, but…what’s Ifcus’ story? I mean, is he all right? It’s just…um…the harness. It’s curious. But if you’d rather not say, I’ll understand. As I said, it’s none of my business.”
I’m sure you can appreciate why this question aroused much intrigue amongst all. They always wanted to ask, but nobody ever plucked up the brass to do so.
So, as silence spread, they all sat there, waiting for Crosco’s response. They were curious as to whether he was going to be ill-mannered about it, or whether he might actually show some trust and include them in his business for a change.
With not quite as much boorishness as usual, and also with a surprising sense of sociability, Crosco replied, “Ah, never mind him. He’s grand! Just getting old…like the rest of us.”
Then, out of the blue, as if a ripple of affection had just trickled through him, The Head became quietly distraught, and added, “…But there once was a time when he was the fastest thing on these lands. No man, wizard, or dragon had the mettle to take that fellow on in a race! He carried the wind with every stride, he did.”
“And what happened?” asked Stell, stoking the fire with an arrow.
“He got old…weak almost,” Crosco answered. “Even so, he was still as fast as lightning, whatever his age.”
As if revisiting a sad memory, he then muttered, “But, unfortunately…he was not fast enough.”
They were all listening intently to Crosco’s tale. The firelight wrought bobbing shadows upon those held expressions, as the sparks crackled and popped.
“One day, about three hundred and fifty-odd years ago, I went out for a gallop with Ifcus. Ifcus’ mare, Temprà, on the other hand, was out alone, searching for food in Grenvul wood. She was a beautiful, magnificent beast, was Temprà! A snow-white unicorn with perfect blue eyes and a presence that would bestow glee unto all.
“Anyway, she went into the woods to forage, when she happened upon some hunters of the Alpacharà tribe. Marrow Eaters! Hideous-looking river folk who can alter their beings into infinitesimal bacterium, only to crawl into the airways of their victims and feed upon them from the inside out. And these monsters happened to be out hunting for unicorn that very day!”
Enthralled, yet appalled by Crosco’s detail, Wren gasped, “Ugh, how awful.”
“I know,” replied The Head. “They used to capture the unicorns and flog their horns, while they themselves fed upon the corpses. Monstrous devils!”
Unable to comprehend such foul and dastardly deeds, Wren couldn’t help recalling Drevol’s ill-reputed underlings, and how they torment the good without remorse.
“So, when Ifcus and I were returning from our canter, we saw the hunters carrying Temprà away, hogtied on the back of their cart. Unable to sustain his passion, Ifcus reared and threw me from his back. He chased the Alpacharà as fast and as hard as he could. But they were horse-drawn by four of the finest young mustangs you would ever see. And they were well ahead of us…even before we’d spotted them. Poor Ifcus ran and ran, but he just could not catch up. Alas, they took Temprà away, and we never saw her again.
“We searched for weeks…months, even…but to no avail. Ever since, he has lost the will to run. His self-esteem, his confidence, even his very passion and inspiration have deserted him…and I fear he will never run again. At times, even walking has become an ordeal. But, he is my friend, and I shall never abandon him. That is why we travel together the way we do. The harness and that.”
Wren was saddened by his woeful account. She gazed at Ifcus, who was lying there all alone in the corner, away from their conversation, with his eyes closed and his ears slackened in rest.
“Well, what about his leg?” Khrum whispered. “How’d that happen?”
“He always had a peg leg. Ever since he was young,” replied The Head. “He was born with only three legs, you see. And his first master, Demortice of Òmora north—an old acquaintance of mine—crafted it for him. But then Demortice passed away when Ifcus was but a foal, so I decided to care for him.”
Displaying an authentic sense of sentiment that was truly rare for him, Crosco regarded Ifcus one more time and said, “And to think, he could still run as fast as he did. Remarkable fellow!”
From that moment on they were all aware of Ifcus’ tale, and were each profoundly moved by it. Crosco, however, was a little upset by his reminiscence. Taking heed, Khrum tried to change the conversation to something of a lighter note.
But he chose to replace it with, “So, William lad. Mysun Margyle himself! What about that, ha?!” incorporating a brave laugh.
Now, by rights, it wasn’t a great substitute for Ifcus’ story at all, because William didn’t want to talk about that, either. But it still stirred great interest in the cave, even though he himself decided to keep out of it, having still been agitated by his incident with the truffle.
Standing up, he so said with a smile, “That’s right, Khr
um. Briggun better watch out ‘coz he’s not going to know what hit him!”
“To be sure, that’s right, lad,” Khrum said, and cheered. “You’re gonna knock his socks right out his nose, so ya are! Bust every boil on his face!”
Wishing to reroute the interest from himself, William laughed, though a trifle artificially, and said, “And his boots, too! Mark my words. Anyways, I’m just going to stick my head outside for a second; take a look at our course. Ye go on ahead. Carry on without me.”
William’s reason to be excused seemed genuine, so they let him be, and proceeded to chatter away among themselves.
William lingered at the mouth of the cave, where the driving rains wailed by. He found it relaxing. That and the heat of the fire against his back. He just watched the world go by; listening to the rain as it battled against fleeting winds. How it soothed him.
“I saw him fighting once, you know,” said Stell, laying on his elbow by the firelight.
“Really?!” said Wren. “You actually saw Mysun Margyle in action?”
“Yes,” the Elf smiled proudly, “though I was but an Elfling at the time. And only from a distance did I observe him, out of respect for my father’s wishes. He didn’t want me to get hurt. Yet I can still recall the entire event like it was yesterday. It was one of the last days he fought in The Battle of the Seasons…when he was at his weakest. And, even then, he was something to talk about. Un-be-lieveable!”
Sitting up eagerly, the flames brightened Stell’s face, and he continued, “To this day I have never seen such courageousness. Mysun was in a different league to any other hero. He clashed with such passion, using everything he had; sorcery…weapons…even his bare fists! Waves of enemies he held at bay like they were nothing. ‘Twas like Mysun himself was an impenetrable wall of enchanted steel. Oh, what any Elf wouldn’t give for such magnificence.”
As he was telling this story, they again listened raptly, with smiles upon their faces. But William remained where he was, peering peacefully into the wailing winds. They were so shrill that they blocked his ears from whatever the Elf was preaching, and that was just the way he liked it.
The Other of One: Book Two Page 17