The Other of One: Book Two

by Brian G. Burke

  “Well, only if you’re sure…” he solicited.

  “As sure as I’ll ever be,” the Elf said with a wink. “Come now. Chin up. Here he comes.”

  With the creaking of tattered wood, the Ferryman pulled up at the edge of the gorge, where he stood in full manifestation, untouched by the fog as it broke submissively about him. Ten feet tall, he stood. From his forehead two horns coiled, and he towered over them like a self-styled deity of that sinister dominion. Nor did he speak. The only sounds were from his withered breaths and the sodden sounds of raw flesh beneath his garments whenever he moved. And through the shade of his cowl, two icy dots glinted at them by the dull light.

  They froze at his very presence. Suddenly, he held out his bandaged hand in the expectance of something.

  Starting to lapse into a feeble wheeze, Icrick tugged on Stell’s sleeve and babbled, “What do we do now? It looks like he’s after something?! Oh, tell me it’s not a prisoner…or…or a sacrifice!”

  “Fear not, Icrick,” the Elf replied. “His fee need not be so gruesome.”

  “That’s something, I suppose,” sighed the Head. “But can he be trusted with whatever payment he does seek?”

  “I am not entirely sure. But, believe me, we have no other choice.”

  “What do you mean, we have no other choice?” Icrick trembled. “Could we not just go ‘round?!”

  “I am afraid not,” Stell answered. “For it is only now that I recognise this gorge. Strisure’s Leap they call it. So named after Xal Strisure, the deceitful colossus. Nobody knows exactly where it ends because it shifts through time. Some even say that it stretches, both north and south, to the very length of the Blade Mountains. And if that’s true, then it means that we would have to stray to the very edges of Lythiann herself to find a way across. Even then, such a route could not be guaranteed, making it a complete waste of our precious time. We need to pay this boatman.”

  Patting down her pockets, Wren said in a fluster, “Pay him? With what? We haven’t a penny to rub together between us! Well…I know I don’t, anyways!”

  Just then, William sprang a thought, and removing his pack he said, “Hang on a second! I might have just what we need.”

  Fishing through it, he uncovered the velvet purse which Anun had given him once upon a time, and he smiled. “Here it is! I was given these by a friend. She said I’d know exactly what to do with them when the time came. And this looks like as good a time as any.”

  From the purse he displayed two golden coins which were unmistakeably hand wrought, as their shape was slightly uneven and bumpy. The engravings, too, had been faded from the ages, which granted them an even further sense of antiquity.

  Stell placed them in the stranger’s palm. With prolonged and mangled movements, the Ferryman stowed them safely inside his hanging cuff before presenting the boat for the group’s embarking.

  One after the other they boarded, to find that the conveyance was extremely worn and of charred wood, wherefrom a musty aroma of stale smoke was emitting. Shoving the boat out with his pole, the Ferryman slowly transported our heroes across the crevasse where, at its end, awaited that terrifying region of Shillìg Bèg.

  For most of the voyage, William was staring over the portside. Nothing was below them, just mist and shadow, and yet, he could still hear water. It was very curious, and was all he could wonder about. Meanwhile, the others sat there stonily, dying to get off again.

  They each did their very best to keep their guard during that journey, because they did not know this Ferryman person from Adam, making them fear his true intentions. Was he a murderer? Had he killed before? Maybe he was into black curses? Or perhaps he was simply some raving crack-pot who could kick-off at any given second over nought. As such, they sat in readiness, eyes down; sometimes passing an intermittent glance at one another. Then there was poor Ifcus, at the stern, pressed right up against the stranger’s cloak because Crosco kept shifting backwards in an effort to get himself comfortable. You know how he can be. As he was doing this, Ifcus gawked up to see the Ferryman slowly twisting his shadowed face in his direction. Nervous of the demon’s glare, the steed panicked and muzzled restlessly at The Head to give him some space. And so he did, but not without a moan.

  Nobody dared slip a whisper for the entire journey, and time went by to what felt like a cell’s month in darkness. It drew on so long that Stell even managed to shut his eyes for a stretch. How he managed it, they had no clue, for that journey through the fog was so cheerless and harrowing, not to mention tedious. All they wanted was to be off that boat and back on dry land again, Shillìg Bèg or not. Stell Crimpleton was a strange sort, however; surprisingly calm in the most dangerous of situations, while almost quaking in terror at the mere whisper of other dark instances. But, it’s fairly common for some people to feel more threatened by a prospect, than by the eye of pandemonium itself.

  The mist parted from their way, and a surge of both horror and respite washed over them when they saw land appearing on the other side.

  “Stell! Wake up!” said Wren, pinching the Elf into alert. “We’re almost there.”

  It wasn’t flatland, mind, like where they’d departed from. It was more a sloped formation; V-shaped, like the aperture to a small ravine, with some crippled-looking trees scattered throughout. It was at its lowermost trench that they were making their approach.

  Over the gully’s crest, the flatland flared out, north-east to south-east, before resuming its moonlit course into where they could no further see. Into the unknown, that black vista strayed. Stell was most discouraged by this. For even he was growing all the more unconfident about his direction. He needed some higher ground to navigate by.

  Finally their voyage had come to a long-awaited end. They disembarked onto the floor of the ravine, nor could they do it quickly enough. Stell, being the courteous one, thanked the stranger, but the boatman did not reciprocate. He instead sailed off, back into that cloaking miasma, and they all shuddered one last time at his air.

  In a low, yet somewhat cynical fashion, Khrum mumbled, “I’d say he’d be mighty craìc ta have a pint with, wouldn’t ye say?”

  The boat slowed to a stop in the midst of the fog. Had the boatman heard his impudent remark?

  From the corner of his mouth, The Head grumbled, “Shut up, will you, for pity’s sake! If he comes back, I’m telling him it was you who said it!”

  Thankfully there was no need for Crosco to do any such thing, because the Ferryman lingered just briefly before sailing out of sight.

  “Phew, that was close!” said Icrick. “Really, Khrum. Maybe that’ll teach you to mind your tongue in the future.”

  Icrick then turned away, and Khrum blew a raspberry behind his back. Still, the little leprechaun truly was terrified of the Ferryman’s intentions then, and there was no saying otherwise. So it’s safe to say he’d try and watch his tone a little better from then on in. Try…

  Adjusting himself for off, Stell said, “Okay, now let us find a way out of this ravine and back onto flat ground.”

  “Well…um…it’s no use in us climbing out,” Wren replied, with a queer expression.

  “And for what reason?” asked the Elf.

  Revulsion had frozen her from her very eyelids down to her toes, as she winced, “Taoisóg warrens! And they are abso-lutely everywhere!”

  Shockingly, it was exactly as she’d said. Both banks of the ravine were completely riddled in small burrows that belonged to the Taoisóg—large, tunnelling rodents. They were ferocious by nature and, through vibrations on the ground above, they become alerted to the presence of food, just as a spider does when a fly yanks on its thread.

  Unable to make himself any clearer, Stell said, with his hands out and panning around, “Stay absolutely, completely and utterly still. Do not even bat an eyelid.”

  “Oh, I wish Jimzin was here! I despise Taoisóg,” Wren whispered, in a muddle.

  Moaning horribly, with a look etched from misery, Khrum sulked,
“Aw, what in the name o’ all the faeries is a Taoisóg when it’s at home? And why’d he land us here!”

  “Not so loud, Khrum,” Wren hushed. “They’ll hear you! And if you don’t know what a Taoisóg is, then you’re better off not knowing.”

  “We must move as slowly and as lightly as possible,” Stell instructed. “That much is imperative, for these creatures hunt by movement. Now, I think I can see the end of the gully from here, and it’s not all that far away, by what my eyes tell me. So if we just take our time…keep to the middle…and move slowly, there shan’t be any trouble, and we’ll be out of this mess in no time.”

  A hairy little shadow scuttled across their path and, instantly, they went taut.

  After a moment of but a shallow breeze whispering by their ears, Stell eased his tension, and spoke in an even quieter manner, “Walk heel to toe, slowly! As I said, Taoisóg can feel our movement, though they cannot see us. So we should be safe, as long as we’re careful. Now. If you’re all set, let’s move.”

  And so they proceed on; heel-toe, heel-toe, heel-toe, in a slow, silent and orderly fashion.

  Creeping along like this did not make their journey go by any quicker, and every now and again, they heard foul noises beneath the earth, like large numbers of small things were uttering to one another in their own filthy, high-pitched tongue. Not only that, but the moon was totally overrun by that same unsightly cloud, so light was scarce too. This made it very difficult to judge if they were, indeed, staying to the ravine floor, or wandering towards its warren-clad banks, which was the last thing they wanted, should they draw the attention of these most dreadful-sounding Taoisóg creatures.

  It turned blacker than black in that ravine, with nothing visible but for the seldom set of tiny white eyes blinking out from inside the burrows. These, however, belonged to other animals; probably of less infamy to the Taoisóg, and yet they were undoubtedly of their grisly union, because they were all living together in the one place. These critters seemed tactful enough though, so there was no sense in provoking any needless hostility. For that reason, they kept to their own affairs and continued to tiptoe along. All the while Stell’s ear was zoned in on the slightest of movements.

  The farther they roamed, the less they could see. Any meagre reflection of light was being devoured, step by step, by the mouth of shadow. They were all banking on the Elf’s keen senses by then. All the more so, since Crosco’s pathetically petrified glow was of little use to anyone in that gloom. So following him was completely out of the question.

  Had they known that there was only a hundred metres or so before the end of the ravine, then it might have come as some relief. But they’d since lost all sense of yardage, thus fear endured. If only they had some small shred of moonlight to navigate by, but that enveloping cloud was cruel and, moreover, domineering of all light.

  “I’ve never known such darkness out in the open,” whispered Icrick’s voice. “I can’t even see a star. As a matter of fact, I don’t even know if my eyes are open or closed.”

  “I can see more than I desire, with these accursed things gawking out at me,” replied The Head nervously.

  Then, without warning, Ifcus jerked at the sudden sight of two white eyes darting beneath him. Crosco landed his heavy boot onto the bank, should he fall backwards with a crash.

  This wasn’t Crosco’s fault. He couldn’t avoid being as heavy and unwieldy as he was. Nor was Ifcus to blame for getting startled. It could have happened to anybody.

  “Cripes-tonight!” The Head started, regaining his footing; but in realising what had just happened, he winced, “Oooh, bugger!”

  Something stirred, and Stell ordered them to hold still for the horror of what may follow.

  There was silence.

  Yet it didn’t remain so for very long. They heard the strangest thing, like the atmosphere had awoken to many more presences than that of their own.

  It was like an abundance of bodies had suddenly arrived in the blackness, scurrying about with sharp and shallow breaths.

  Their hearts tautened, while the darkness made it all the worse.

  “Nobody…move,” Stell’s voice whispered.

  They stiffened; mimicking statues. When the clouds disbanded from the way of the moon, they found themselves wishing they hadn’t. For they could see now that they were completely encompassed by Taoisóg. Hundreds of Taoisóg, everywhere. Scurrying over each other in mounds; sniffing for trepidations on the wind.

  About the size of tabby cats, these vermin were coated in ink-black fur, were eyeless, and had two sets of veiny, wafer-thin ears. Lethal-looking teeth jutted up from their lower lips, and their whiskers were disgustingly long too; though not as foul and lengthy as their pink, wriggling tails. Standing rigid, William was downright repulsed. He had never been a huge admirer of rodents in the first place.

  Weakened by numbers, the band remained perfectly still. Even if they wanted to move, they couldn’t, they were so congealed by terror.

  “Oh, God!” Icrick shuddered, in a thin whisper. “I think my heart’s going to pop.”

  Stell replied through a locked jaw, “They won’t come at us unless we move. Now hush!”

  The cloud concealed the moon once more, making it worse still, for they knew what was surrounding them now. They knew that the Taoisóg were there, and yet, they couldn’t move or do anything about it, and retaliation was something they wanted to avoid because there were simply too many of those little wretches to deal with. If they could proceed evasively, then all to the better.

  Again, the ravine dimmed to unalloyed blackness. The only life to fill that dreaded calm were the ghastly sounds of Taoisóg sniffs and the scuttling of little claws through the dirt. William felt one of their warm bodies slithering past his leg and along his boot…where it paused. He became very conscious of his kilt, and how he wouldn’t have fancied it all that much if the Taoisóg made a sudden dart up his leg.

  He could hear his breath shaking. Icy sweat trickled down his temples. The rodent’s claws gripped the hide of his boots, like a cat kneading a blanket for sleep. Much to his respite, the inquisitive Taoisóg moved on, and William emitted a quiet sigh.

  They waited, and waited, and waited, as still as death; all the while, Khrum had an uncontrollable urge to go to the toilet (he got that way whenever he was made hide, but he kept his urges at bay). They must’ve held those poses for close on ten minutes before the creatures decided to return to their warrens.

  How relieved they were when the moon reappeared to expose that last wibbling tail as it slid back inside one of the nearer holes.

  “That was way too close for my liking,” puffed Wren, with William beside her, beading with sweat.

  “Yes, we were very fortunate,” Stell said. “Usually Taoisóg can strike out at something as faint as a heartbeat…when it gets close enough. They must be weak from starvation.”

  “Weak from starvation?” whispered Icrick. “But, if that’s the case, then that would also mean—”

  “Yes,” the Elf put in. “If they catch us, weak or otherwise…there shan’t even be bones left to remember us by. Back in Crannùch, about six winters ago, I saw a hungry Taoisóg—who’d probably strayed from its pack—taking down an adult bear single-handedly. It devoured it in moments…claws and all!”

  Gulping down an apple-sized spit, Icrick glared at each of his companions in a way that would almost have been humorous to see, had they themselves not been stuck in the very same boat.

  “I share your fear, master Grogoch,” Stell whispered. “But we must keep moving. And please…all of you…try keeping to the middle this time!”

  Knowing that this remark was aimed at him, Crosco cleared his throat and went all snooty, like he hadn’t the foggiest idea what the Elf was on about.

  In any case, they all slinked along. Only this time, Ifcus clenched his eyes, and the Dullahan was sure not to put his foot in any silly places.

  The end of the ravine was ever nearing. William
wanted to throw all caution to the wind and make a dash for it, and that’d be the end of that blasted stretch, once and for all. But he couldn’t risk it, and was made ignore the itch. If only that was the height of his worry.

  What started out as a near indiscernible hum, quickly barrelled into an unmistakable tremor, and the scariest thing of all, was that it was trundling fast through the blackness behind.

  William groaned, “That can’t be good,” when a rolling wave of black, foaming water came crashing down the dark ravine towards them.

  “What’s happening?!” Wren cried.

  “It’s that bloody Ferryman! I’d bet beer on it!” Khrum shrieked. “I had a bad feelin’ about him from the get-go.”

  “Damn you and your stupid quips, Khrum!” barked Icrick. “Could you not have just zipped your beard and let him leave?!”

  “I know! I’m sorry,” whinged the leprechaun.

  Eyes widened to a new horror, Stell griped, “Oh no! No-no-no-no-no!”

  The flood was washing every last Taoisóg out of their holes, and now the whole lot was coming to get them, wave and all.

  “WE HAVE TO MOVE!” Stell cried, and off they bolted, into a fraught dash.

  “Always running,” William sneered, with the critters scampering after him.

  Doing one swift turn, he booted one of them sky-high before continuing on his escape.

  “We always get caught and we always end up running from some-bloody-thing!” he bickered angrily.

  Taoisóg were hot on their heels, at which they wildly snapped. Icrick whimpered whilst the pitter-patter of his hairy feet was being mimicked by a seam of his most infamous of squishy rippers. These didn’t faze the Taoisóg however, having been accustomed to such sordid stenches from living below the foul earth of that evil land for all too long.

  Fair was the gap between them and their enemies, but poor Crosco was the slowest and last in line, making him the rodents’ prime target. Biting and bounding with terrifying determination, one Taoisóg sprung and sliced through the Dullahan’s iron fauld like cheddar. Fortunately, the Dullahan got away unscathed. But when he saw how their fangs were as sharp as white-hot steel, The Head squealed at The Body to run even faster. By then the water, too, was gaining, and it looked to be gushing onwards with brutal force, breaking and swirling up along the banks as it foamed forth.