“Yeah, I see it,” the boy said. “And I can see a wall too, I think.”
“I spy that too,” Stell concurred. “And it’s not Ewval’s Bastion.”
Waddling over to the rear of William’s backpack, Icrick yanked it down to his level and started fishing through it, mumbling, “Oh, please, please, say it is here. I know I put it in here someplace. Oh, blithering balderdash…where is it?!”
Whisking out that same obscure, spyglass contraption, he said, “Aha! My trusty Distometer. I knew I hadn’t lost it. Almost completely forgot about it after our mishap with Percy’s leaf that time. Fear not, folks, I shan’t let ye down. I’ll soon find us a route into that city without even breaking a sweat.”
Pleased to see Icrick jovially upholding his duty, Wren smiled at the lad, and he winked affably in return. You may not have noticed but, despite his worrying, William tried his best to keep up his spirits, for everyone’s benefit. Consequentially it was helping him to remain much calmer than he would’ve been otherwise. But whether he could maintain it or not…
Icrick wound up a few dials, gawked through the lens, and gloomily he uttered, “Oh, my word! Yes, I can see the wall…and yes, I can see a peculiar-looking windmill…but I can’t see any way into the city itself. It’s just a ridiculously high, doorless wall. And would you look at the length of it. Holy Moses, it goes on forever. Completely out of sight! Both north and south! How big is that city?”
“The Barren City stretches on for days, Icrick my friend,” Stell answered. “Days we cannot spare. Luckily for us it’s not all that broad. Are you certain there’s no way in?”
“Not that I can see, anyway. Must’ve been blocked up since, maybe?” replied the Grogoch, and handing Stell the Distometer, he said, “Here, look for yourself.”
“Well what about these other passes with the Spincers?” Wren asked. “Where are they located?”
“Underground, mostly…as far as I am aware,” The Elf explained, as he tried to manage Icrick’s bizarre apparatus. “But, if what William says is true, we wouldn’t last five minutes down there with those creatures lurking about. For their infestations could be anywhere in the hundreds to tens of thousands, and we’d be quickly overrun. No, we must instead find a way over that wall. We will scale it with our fingertips if we must.”
Everyone was staring blankly at the city, wondering, when Icrick caught the leprechaun peering off into the wrong location altogether.
“What ever are you gawking at?!” he frowned. “You’re looking the wrong way! Typical!”
The Grogoch went to swivel him right, but Khrum shoved his hand away, and barked, “I’m not lookin’ at that, ya cretin! I’m tryin’ ta figure out what that yoke is…over there!”
They all turned southwards to see, protruding upward from the soil, a sort of pyramidal tablet, no taller than a gravestone.
Tilting her head to one side, Wren asked doubtfully, “That’s a…gypsy crypt, isn’t it?”
“A gypsy crypt? Here?! In Shillìg Bèg? You’re having a laugh!” replied The Head and Ifcus, oddly enough, shook his head in accord. “What on earth would gypsies be doing this far east? They are southern vagabonds, are they not? It wouldn’t make any sense.”
“Wait! I think she’s right, horsemaster,” Stell said excitedly, getting the hang of Icrick’s contraption. “And if that’s the case, they may be able to offer us some advice on how to get into that city.”
Not very knowledgeable of travelling folk himself, Khrum said, “Ya trusht the gypsies, do ya, Stell? Particularly ones who live around…um…here?”
“It is true, some of our gypsies can be crafty at times, Khrum; but they’ve never truly brought harm to anyone. Ever. They genuinely are cordial beings, all things considered. And, on account of their expeditions and age, they are extremely educated in many, many things.”
Doubtful of why they were even having this discussion, William put in, “Well, how could they possibly help? You did say ‘crypt’ after all. Does that not mean they’re…you know…gone?”
“Gypsies don’t die, William,” Wren sniggered. “No. They just…um…sleep a lot when they are fed up of living in the real world. This one is probably just sleeping.”
Handing Icrick back his toy, Stell made haste for the stone, saying, “Come! Let us see if we can have a quick word. Could fair out much to our advantage.”
They dashed across the bog and it wasn’t long before they were standing beside that peculiar rock and, now that William had the chance to analyse it up close, he saw that it was rather handsomely designed; etched with all sorts of jagged markings, none of which bore any likeness to the more common patterns he’d come to discover before.
These rough and toothed designs had a real sense of forbiddance about them. But believing this tomb benign, the others were fairly keen on summoning its supposed residents, so William played along. Khrum wasn’t quite so willing, though.
“Those shapes look a bit suspect,” said he, nipping tensely at his hairy lip. “Makes the crypt look like it shouldn’t be touched. Ya know that sorta way? All cursed ‘n’ that! Ya sure about this, Elf?”
Kneeling before the pyramid, Stell replied, “Of course I am, Khrum. That’s exactly what the markings are for; to ward off people who are none the wiser. But that’s gypsies for you. To them, life is all about the ghostly, superstitious side of things. It is hokum if you ask me, so don’t be afraid. Now, let’s see who’s home, shall we?”
Genuinely dubious as to what was to follow, Khrum scrabbled onto William’s shoulder, where he whispered into his ear, “What are we supposed ta do here? Knock on the door is it or what…?” But it was an alabaster pyramid…there was no door.
Grasping some free earth in his fist, Stell began rubbing it firmly onto the stone.
“Or else we could jusht aggravate the holes off them by rubbin’ muck all over the front o’ their little housheen!” groaned the leprechaun.
Suddenly a grating ripple, which was feigned from a body of both soil and root, began shuddering down along the pyramid, making the entire stone grow upward some feet before dying into stillness again. This was just the beginning of the process.
“Now water,” Stell said. “May I have one of your water skins, please?”
Handing him hers, Wren said, “Here you are, Stell, but try not to use too much. Just in case we get stuck. You know yourself.”
“Not to worry. All I need is the slightest…little…drop,” said Stell, gingerly tipping some over the crown of the crypt.
It dribbled down over the sides, and the pyramid grew again. Only this time a swell of frost crept over those ancient markings right up to the tip, causing it to open a fraction with a hsss of musty steam. Then it stopped a second time.
“Wind?” William joined in, though he wasn’t sure if he was right or wrong.
Standing to his feet, Stell backed away slowly, and said, “Correct. Now, step back just a few feet, all of you. We require room for this element.”
“Oh, oh, can I do it?” Wren implored, waving her hand in the air. “It looks like fun!”
William smiled.
“By all means!” said the Elf, and nodded.
Wren brushed her hair behind her ears and delivered a tender breath onto the icy stone. A brisk surge of wind shot outwards from its base, sending all of their garments into a flutter and, as the soil stirred again, the crypt elevated upwards and upwards until a grand pyramidal megalith was peering down over them.
“Oh! My turn! My turn!” said Icrick, with the flint ready in his paw. “Last but not least…fire!”
Striking the flint off the stone, the Grogoch almost sprung like a jackrabbit on a tack when the entire crypt exploded into a mighty rush of blistering fire, leaving in its dying wake a now open pyramid where, sleeping within, was a ghastly looking carcass cocooned by dust and cobwebs.
Nobody knew what to do at first, for this being looked so lifeless, and was really very foul to regard. So they waited, knowing full well t
hat the Elf would be the one to take charge. It was, after all, his idea.
Carefully approaching the body, he whispered, “Greetings…uh…c-can you hear me?”
There the corpse remained, eyes shut, mumbling away to himself in a deep, deep slumber.
An unsightly corpse of a thing he was. His leaden skin flaked like wet sand. He was almost entirely decomposed as he lay upright with his brittle hands crossed over his chest. A heavy pile of burnished amulets hung from his neck, drawing it into an uncomfortable dip. Beneath all of this jewellery were his ragged garments, slack from wear. And, on his head he wore a maroon headscarf, frayed and grimy.
Standing rigid before this ghoulish carcass—sprouting up from the interior of the foremost wall of the now open pyramid—was a peculiar object. Only for it’d been wrought from cold stone, it would’ve resembled an ancient origami fortune teller; much like the ones you yourselves have probably made in your time. It was shaped much the same way, only there were four tinted gemstones on the corner of each segment; tiger’s eye, malachite, jasper, and lapis lazuli. This Fortune Stone was also quite a bit larger than a simple origami fortune teller. It was on par with Icrick’s puzzled eyes.
Leaning in closely to the corpse, Stell whispered, a little louder this time, “Ahem! Nice evening for it, my good man!”
The creature, still dozing, somehow acknowledged Stell’s voice and, for an instant, he glimpsed at him. Then, as if something had just registered in his dream, he roared out with such fright that they thought his head was going to tumble off down the fenland.
The carcass screeched loud for the wilds to hear; eyes blazing at the Elf. Soon enough, everyone was in an upheaval; panicking and shushing, crying out and pleading.
Mid-ruckus, Stell beseeched, “Calm down! I beg you. We need not draw this attention. Not here.”
Eventually the corpse stopped his howling, and glared them with fiery mortification. His chest lurched in and out, while clouds of dust puffed from his withered lips.
“Who the hell do you think ya are?” he snapped, when one of his eyes popped out, only to zip back inside the socket before it could escape. “Sticking your nose in my face when I’m trying to sleep. Scared the nips off me!”
The gypsy was so worked up that his jaw dislodged, and in order for him to continue with his scolding, he needed to fix it in place again. In so doing, he dislocated his shoulder, which put him into an even fouler mood.
“Ah! Look at what ya’ve done now!” he barked, his bones rattling and clacking. “This is all your fault, ya know that, don’t ya! I remember the last time I fell to bits like this; it took me the best part of nine months to pull myself back together again! And that’s not as easy as ya might think, when you’re all by yourself. All bones. Just you try it. Try pulling your neck back onto your skull using just your teeth. Never mind how impossible it is to get your teeth back into your mouth without any limbs. I’d like to see ya try to manage that! Fools, ye.”
“I-I do apologise—” the Elf started saying.
Ridiculing his tone, the cadaver then snapped, “Oh! I-I-I-I-I dooo apologise! Stuttering sissy!”
“Watch yourself, bonehead!” Khrum growled, with ballooning mistrust.
“Shut your flippin’ gob too, ya tiny little weasel-faced, lepre-lout, before I take my left leg and burst your other eyeball. Do ya hear me? DO YA?! HA?!” threatened the gypsy, and Khrum stood down, but with a livid eye. “Now, seeing as all this is your fault, Elf, ya can put me back together again, so ya can!”
Meanwhile, into his steed’s ear, Crosco whispered, “I rather like this chap.”
Nevertheless, before the carcass knew what was happening, an Elfish spear chimed, and was pressed tightly against his desiccating throat.
Staring solidly into his eyes, Stell sneered, “Say what you will to me, but calm your decrepit tongue with my friends, swine, or there shall be no repairing yourself after what I do to you!”
“Eek!” shrieked the gypsy. “S-S-S-S-Sorry!”
The others were shocked to see Stell threatening this thing as boldly as he did, and yet such clear virtue didn’t seem worthy enough of his own approval…or that of his kin, apparently.
“It is Khrum who you should be apologising to. So do it now, like a good fellow,” the Elf said coolly, keeping his manners.
“Forgive me, Crumbs!”
“Khrum,” Stell placidly corrected, adding pressure to his throat.
“K-K-Khrum! Sorry!” stuttered the corpse. “I take it all back! Ya seem like a nice enough chap, ya really do!”
The gypsy’s pretence of severity had quickly diminished. He was now as timid as a spring lamb. A blade to the gullet will do that to a person.
“Excellent!” smiled the Elf, returning to his pleasant ways. “All friends again. Now…I must apologise for disturbing you, dear chap. However, we require your help, and once we are through, I shall help you reassemble yourself. I’ll even bewitch this site of yours so as no one disturbs you again in the near future. Call it…payment. Sound reasonable?”
With the blade still teasing his throat, the corpse stuttered nervously, “O-O-Of course it does. Sounds fairer than fair to me…definitely! Yes! Unbelievably kind. Very noble of ya, sir.”
Sheathing his spear, the Elf smiled. “Superb! Now, my gentle fellow, what may I ask is your name?”
Caressing his tender throat, the gypsy’s thumb snapped off, and he replied, “Oh! Er…damn it! What’s my name, ya say?”
Placing the finger in his dusty pocket, he continued, “Well, because I tend to slumber for centuries at a time, I sometimes forget those minor details. But, upon reflection, my name is…um…Nòmad. Now, what is it you want from me, my fair, fair friends?”
He believed that being cooperative and flattering may spare him some further confrontation, so he tried incorporating it as often as he could. Any life-valuing person would do the very same, I’m quite sure, regardless of whether they’ve slept for most of it or not.
“We need to find a way into the Barren City,” said Wren. “Do you know of a way in?”
“Ah, bugger it anyways!” Nòmad replied suddenly, looking very anxious indeed. “Darn it all to ribbons.”
Surveying behind for any signs of Redmun, however unlikely, William turned to the gypsy and asked, “Why’s that a problem?”
“Well, now that ya actually do require my help, I have no choice but to assist ye!” whined the cadaver.
“And what’s so bad about that?” asked William.
“I’m a gypsy, ya see. And it’s in a gypsy’s curse to instantly punish those who fail to address us correctly when they are in need of our aid! Just simple, prankish penalties. We can’t help it. It’s our gypsy nature, I tell ya! And I’m not entirely sure I want to prank such a serious bunch as yourselves…to be completely and utterly honest like.”
“That’s rich, comin’ from a lad that’s shacked-up in the middle o’ Sruthaìr of all places. Do ya honestly expect us ta believe that you’re afraid o’ us? What have ya really got up your shleeve, ya louser?!” Khrum exclaimed, squeezing his fists.
“I didn’t dwell here of my own accord, ya little…” apprehending a stiff glance from Stell, Nòmad halted and remembered his manners. “…Sorry! It’s just, I hate being accused of bad things by people who are smaller than I! No offence.”
“Lookit, jusht go on with your damn shtory, will ya! Ya didn’t dwell here outta your own accord because…” sneered Khrum, losing patience.
“…Because I fell through the earth and landed here the very same time the bad fella arrived, ya see. Fell down from above I did, when the canyons came crashing down. I had no choice in the matter. It just happened. And when I saw what was going on down here, with the wars and torment, I was too scared to budge. So I propped up my crypt and here I’ve stayed, ever since. Napping! Till it all blows over!”
They were losing light fast now, so Wren suggested, “It’s getting late. And I, for one, don’t wish to sleep out here come
starlight. So can you help us with problem or not, Nòmad?”
“Unfortunately, now I have to!” whined the ghoulish corpse, as his left ear crumbled to dust. “But just don’t go getting angry at me if something bad happens. It’s not my fault!”
Then William pledged, “We won’t get angry, so long as you keep your word. Now, what do we have to do?”
“Address me correctly while asking your question. That’s it! Ya get three chances. If ya ask me properly, we shall move on to my Fortune Stone, and that’ll show ya the answer to your question. If not… Well…we’ll see when it happens. Does all that sound fair to ye?”
“Will the curses be reversed if we guess right before the end?” trembled Icrick.
“Faster than ya can say ‘pig-nose’!” replied the gypsy. “But if ya run out of chances, then there’s really nothing I can do. It’s our curse, ya see. So, now that ye are aware of every little detail, are ye sure ye want to go through with it?”
“Yes, we’re sure,” said Wren, readying herself.
No sooner had she spoken than a throng of iron spikes jutted out from the pyramid and burrowed themselves underground before stabbing up about them like a cage.
In a panic, Khrum demanded, “Hey! What the—? What’s this about?”
“Don’t worry. Now that you’ve accepted my challenge, ye must honour your side by not trying to escape…I am so sorry! It’s all part of the process,” the gypsy explained. “But rules are rules, and have to be upheld, no matter how drastic they may seem.”
Stepping up, Crosco said, “Oh, fine! Let’s just get on with it! Here it goes: Nòmad, please tell us how to get into the city.”
There was a puff of lilac smoke, and The Head sprouted three more noses, four new sets of ears, buttons for eyes and stitches for a mouth, just for good measure.
Nòmad shook his head with embarrassment, and William started, “Wh-What happened to him? Noses all over his face, look!”
The Other of One: Book Two Page 22