The Other of One: Book Two

by Brian G. Burke

  Shells and abdomens crunched beneath their boots as they reeled their way up to the second floor. A narrow chamber awaited them, with two large doors that opened out to the hub of the city wall across the way.

  Leading up to this window—lined up on either side of this equally unkempt room—were piles of ruined statues; those of hooded, skeletal reapers it seemed…going by certain distinguishable features upon random, scattered shards. At the near end of this chamber loomed another effigy, fully intact and, with his scythe in hand and his imperial, raven-like wings outspread, he glared coldly towards the end of the room with a ghostly smirk upon his face. Quite the haunting picture; with those dusty floorboards glowing beneath the inbound lunar rays while those grim statues, unbroken or otherwise, occupied all else.

  William, analysing the floor, then pointed out, “Hang on a second…look at this!”

  He blew away a deposit of dust to reveal imprints in the wood; similar to contours of a map. The entire floor was covered by one monstrous chart. If past incidents were anything to go by, however, William feared that there may have been more to this situation than meets the eye. So he, as with the others, remained on guard.

  Outside, behind that massive whitewashed wall of immense blocks which, had only one slipped free would manage to crush an entire brigade alone, there wailed some further cries of that mysterious beast.

  The Head hummed, in a frenzy, “That’s coming from inside the city! It was never coming to attack the windmill at all, was it?”

  “Sincerest apologies, Crosco,” said Wren, “but it was the only way I could get you moving!”

  “Oh, curse your shifty ways, girl,” he groaned, when a flood of insects swarmed around his legs.

  Diverging into several streams, they marched towards each fallen statue, where they crawled inside to reassemble each sculpture from the inside out. In a sense, they were bringing them to life.

  Soon, and without a single insect in sight, each statue stood to attention like a squad of the most highly disciplined, impeccably trained soldiers (albeit, owing to their cracks and imperfections, they didn’t exactly appear complete, but it was those very fractures that were acting as the joints for their every movement). Then, such as what you might see in a silent armament drill, each skeleton flurried his pike with sophistication. Following in unity and with seamless precision, the sounds of their weapons bored through the air and, one by one, like a budding swell, the echoes of the drill rippled into silence before growing into a fresh movement. This performance continued like so for a short time. Pikes were spun and brandished with astonishing skill; sometimes flipping into the air and caught by a corresponding combatant on the opposite side or vice versa. The synchronization was immaculate. Flawless, controlled, and not at all what our heroes were expecting.

  It was unknown to them at that time, but these sculptures actually represented the Druids who once resided there. Warriors of God, who were once responsible for defending their keep should they ever need to. Both effigies and insects alike were re-enacting old drills from gut instinct. An awesome display, but was it going to get out of hand?

  William and the others readied themselves, back to back, and were considering unleashing their own weapons. But with one last thunderous ripple, each statue took a knee, bowed their heads, and slammed their spikes onto the floorboards, where they moved no more. Dust settled into silence.

  Suddenly, a violet fire sizzled beneath the tip of each pike. It flared outwards into the midst of the room, lighting up the contours of that fiery map. That scorching light travelled the labyrinthine formation, like a spark to a trail of fuel, until it halted before the doors at the opposite end.

  “What is this?!” Wren shuddered, backing up into a corner. “Thoughts?”

  “Could it be a map of the city itself…do you think?” Icrick donated, and they all tilted their heads to study it.

  “You know what? You could be right,” Stell said. “Whilst out searching for my father, Ord Nixous and I passed over the Barren City countless times, and this map looks very much like an aerial view of the mid-section. There’s the chapel. And there’s the town hall. But why show us this?”

  “To tell us how to get through the city, I would expect,” The Head said, with a criticizing air. “What cave were you educated in?”

  A little tired of Crosco’s tongue, Stell replied, “What I mean, my civil companion, is why show us the map and not the way through? We are after all trying to avoid danger in there!”

  “Well it’s…um…well…er…it’s probably…hmmm…I’d expect it would be…maybe…um…” babbled The Head.

  “My point exactly!” stated the Elf.

  “Yeah, it’s not much of a guide, is it?” Khrum replied. “I can’t even tell easht from wesht! I say we just sprint straight through the heart o’ the city when we get there; no muckin’ about with cuttin’ corners or takin’ alleyways…or weird notions like that. Straight through jusht, ‘n’ ta hell with this map. So let’s go ‘n’ be done with it.”

  Sliding down William’s shoulder, eager to get through that metropolis sooner rather than later, Khrum took a step forth without any consideration. When would he ever learn?

  The second little Khrum stepped onto the map, a roaring vortex opened wide and whirred beneath his feet. Yowling with a furious vacuum, it tried swallowing him whole.

  “LEAPIN’ LEPERS….GRAB ONTO ME, SOMEONE!” he bellowed, with his legs kicking madly.

  Grabbing his arms, the leprechaun’s faithful companion, Icrick, yanked him back with all his might. Thankfully, he managed to pull Khrum far enough away so as to evade that terrible vortex. But because the vacuum suddenly swallowed itself up upon the leprechaun’s withdrawal, Icrick went tumbling onto his backside, dropping his tiny pal over another contour in the process.

  What happened next was even more frightening. Wetly champing, the torso of a wraithlike Cerberus, with rows of teeth as big as ox horns, pounced from the floorboards, where they snapped at the pitiful Khrum, missing him by a hair every time. Wren lunged out and whisked the leprechaun back again, and the hellish beast retreated to its ghostly home back beneath the floorboards.

  “Me heart! I think it’s shtopped tickin’!” Khrum trembled, clutching his garments in search of a beat.

  Hugging the girl’s leg, he then said, “Bloody map is booby-trapped! Booby-trapped, I tell ya! Oh, but Wren…thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you so much. Melons o’ shteel ya’ve got there! As in, you’re as tough as nails. Nothin’ dirty. “

  “I get it, Khrum. But why are they leading us into traps like this? I thought this place was friendly.” she said, referring to the Druids.

  Just then, something made William turned sharply. He noticed a tear trickling from the eye of the reaper behind them. And although he wasn’t sure if he actually saw it or not, he thought he recognized a look of shame behind those lifeless eyes.

  “They don’t want to be like this,” the boy said to himself.

  “What did you say?” Wren asked.

  “They don’t want to be like this,” William repeated. “Just like the gypsy. They’re cursed! All their lives they’ve done nothing but help people. But now Drevol’s cursed them to do his bidding. Brought them down to his level. He’s forcing them to live out an eternity o’ betrayal now. I mean, in their hearts they probably still want to do what’s right. They’re really trying to fight it! Only…they can’t always get away with it! They have no choice.”

  Given the writings downstairs, this made a lot of sense to them. Those warnings did, after all, speak of curses and foul burdens which had descended upon these unfortunate folk as means of punishment for their faith. They had been forced to do Drevol’s deeds; an unforgivable scourge which he saw only too fitting for these disciples of good.

  The huge reaper then hissed, with a citron glow radiating from its gullet. Soundless from dread, they gazed on as a prodigious python, with scales more dazzling than an even sun, slid from the reaper’s gapi
ng jaws. Its flesh was nigh on blinding. Down along its torso the serpent slithered and, minding its own business, it bypassed their feet and made for the map’s edge.

  Wren exposed the neck of her dagger, and whispered nervously, “Sh-Should we kill it?!”

  “No, wait!” William replied, easing her hand off the grip. “Let’s just see what it does first.”

  The snake, ever hissing, faced he who was closest to it. Icrick the Grogoch.

  Hypnotic was its fix as it stared deep into the Grogoch’s eyes, whose body fell limp as he muttered dreamily and in a manner that was not his own, “Miack shall show us the way through, hsss…”

  “Miack?” Wren asked, trying to grab Icrick’s attention. “You mean the snake?”

  Stepping onto the python’s back, Icrick again hissed, “Indeed. Come, hsss. Fear not this gentle serpent.”

  “Icrick! What are ya hissin’ like that for, ya loother?” Khrum griped, concerned for his dear friend. “Quit actin’ the boob ‘n’ shnap outta it! You’re weirdin’ us out!”

  “No,” Stell interrupted, “don’t be so hasty, Khrum. I feel that this creature is trying to communicate with us through Icrick. Presumably it wishes to show us a safe passage across the map. Perchance, this could very well be their decency trying to overcome their scourge, as William noted. Maybe we should follow, though I cannot say that my trust hasn’t been shaken by those traps. But what other choice do we have?”

  “Follow?” whinged The Head, and Ifcus snickered nervously. “You can’t be serious? Follow on that thing? Did you not see what just happened with that three-headed dog? What if this snake gets the same idea and decides to munch us all down?”

  “Hsss, fret not, I beg of you,” Icrick hissed again, with a now forked tongue flicking from his lips. “I will cause you no hurt. What the Elf says is true. Commit to memory the trail which I show you, and you shall be free of peril once you arrive within those city walls. This is the only aid I can grant you. So, please, accept it.”

  When he heard the words ‘free of peril,’ Crosco had already settled himself, rather comfortably, upon the back of that most ethereal serpent. No surprises there.

  “Well?!” he said. “What are we waiting for?”

  William was about to join him, when Wren muttered in his ear, “Do you truly think it wise to trust a snake…after what we’ve just seen? At first, I trusted this place. But now, I’m not so sure.”

  “You said it yourself, Wren,” he answered. “We need to get into the city. And even though this is all a bit bizarre, Damòn did say that this windmill is our way in, remember? We have to at least try. If we keep a close eye on things, we should be all right. After all, we’ve gotten this far, haven’t we? We’ve gotten through worse.”

  She looked at him devotedly, and smiled, “Okay then…I trust you.”

  Once fully boarded, the magnificent snake slithered slowly through the confines of that shimmering chart. Were it not for the absence of other options, they might have avoided this altogether. But it was all they could think to do, particularly when the craven Crosco consented so freely.

  Straight, left, and right the reptile rolled. Then left and left, taking the second right onto a straight avenue thereafter. Three right turns up ahead, so the serpent took the second and continued along the chart, where it took the third left, and finally the fourth right.

  Whilst the journey progressed, they could see, as if born within the very woodwork of those mouldering floorboards like shades of that labyrinthine spell, more and more potential booby-traps peering up at them from some ghostly lower level. They seemed harmless in their presence, unless provoked—supernatural pitfalls embedded with angular spikes; colossal, sneering Ogres clad in man-flesh pelts, caressing their studded clubs; rotating posts that brandished blades and flails; and wrinkled banshees cradling demon infants, whose threat appeared more mysterious and cruel than any snare yet preceding it.

  There were dozens of those horrifying mirages, and none were comforting. These images represented not what they literally portrayed in the eventuality of that one true Barren City…but one thing, and one thing only. The lone danger which essentially lurked behind those walls. Illusive depictions of du Pòrveth’s malice, and how her fiendish powers could match, and even surpass, any one of those ghostly images.

  On reaching the north-eastern corner of that peculiar map, where a particularly large doorway was engraved, Icrick finally snapped from his trance and squeaked, “W-W-What are we doing on top of this snake?! What h-h-happened? Did I pass out?”

  The snake hissed its farewells, before coiling up and liquefying into a pool of insects, who then scuttled off into the dim corners of the room.

  “Thank the saints that’s over with,” Khrum scowled, clutching the back of his trousers. “There’s a part o’ me that needs a wipe!”

  “You’re safe now, Icrick.” Wren said, consolingly. “You just lost your wit there for a minute, is all. Nothing to be frightened about. You’ll be happy to know that we’re leaving this place now. We’ll be inside the city before you know it.”

  Heeding a faraway growl, Icrick shivered blankly. “All of my Christmases have come at once then. F-F-Fantastic!”

  “Ignore it, my friend. For we now have a way of avoiding whatever that is. Speaking of which, do you all remember which way to go?” Stell asked, studying the wall outside.

  “I think so,” said William.

  “Erm…well…maybe ye haven’t noticed, but we still have to get over that blasted, hundred-mile-high fence!” Khrum pointed out, gawping up.

  Suddenly, every regimented statue within the chamber collapsed into smithereens. And with one forceful strike, the imperial reaper slammed his scythe into the floorboards, causing a rush of emerald luminosity to cascade across the ground.

  “Watch your feet!” exclaimed The Head, and they all shuffled back.

  Like some toxic spillage from a toppled vat, the strange light spread itself across the floor, where it seeped into the wood, leaving no sign of it ever being there. Its liquescent glow dissolved, and they all looked at one another, wondering what had just happened.

  Had they been outside, however, they would’ve observed as the sails of the windmill broke into a viridian blaze and reversed their cycle, wheedling every snake to slither from the exterior and forge a walkway before those open doors on the second floor; that of which led up and up, at a frighteningly steep angle, towards the peak of that enormous wall.

  “Not takin’ into account how this place has almosht led me ta my death,” said the leprechaun, “it actually seems ta be helpin’ us out quite a bit!”

  “How friendly can it be,” Crosco trembled, “when its inhabitants are happily leading us into probably one of the most dangerous places in Lythiann?”

  “When ya put it like that…” gulped the leprechaun.

  “Exactly!” bleated The Head.

  Wishing to get back to business, William donated, “Well, I hate to admit…”

  “…Yes, let us put our notions aside and press on,” Stell put in. “Stick together and stay on the ball. No fuss!”

  Stepping out onto that slippery bridge, they started upwards towards the pinnacle of the outer wall. No climb had yet proven so treacherous as this. The safest way to negotiate it was by shuffling a few inches at a time. Crosco stumbled horrendously close to its slimy brink at one point, but Stell hauled him back before it was too late. Such spills were to be expected nevertheless, with those oily reptiles wriggling under their feet.

  Eventually, they arrived at the crest of the wall and were gazing out over the dilapidated sandstone crowns of a masonic metropolis turned rancid, now known as the Barren City.

  - Chapter Eight -

  Rivals of Old

  Far off in the mid-eastern periphery of the city, William glimpsed the tiniest thread of light through a gap. It looked like a hole, or maybe another exit. He dared not mention it, should he be mistaken. After all, Miack had already presented them with a se
t course, so where was the point in him confusing everyone with his own inept hunches? Our young master Muldoon decided to make a note of it anyway.

  “It was once a miraculous sight, you know,” Stell said, reminiscing over the ruins of the once highly regarded settlement before him, “despite its bearing upon the natural world. But this place was not constructed out of aspirations for gluttony or riches. No, it was built selflessly by tradesmen, in the commemoration of new beginnings. A new era. An era where the needy could acquire all the necessities to exist. Warmth, shelter. Provided for those who were finding life amongst the wilds all the more challenging the older they grew; the elderly, the sick, the bereaved. Now look what has become of it, this great citadel. Completely demolished, brutalized, lost forever…and with it, those poor people. Wiped out completely within the opening hours of our condemnation. How cruel irony can be!”

  “Only she roves these streets now,” The Head added bleakly. “Prowling the shadows. Waiting…watching.”

  “Waiting? For w-w-what?” whispered a trembling Icrick.

  Turning to the Grogoch, Crosco replied woefully, “to slaughter again…”

  “…You mean, Sidell destroyed this entire city?” William gasped, as he considered the magnitude of her feat. “By herself?”

  “Ta be sure!” Khrum explained. “It wouldn’t take much…not for her. Her powers are so dark, laddy, she could destroy the resht o’ Lythiann in a matter o’ days, if she so wanted.”

  “Why doesn’t she then?” William asked. “If she’s so powerful, what’s holding her back?”

  “Because, powerful or not, Drevol could still overthrow her…no contesht! If he found out Sidell was tryin’ to defy him, he’d have her guts for garters! That’s why he keeps her on a short leash, coz she’s a useful ally. A guardian, sort o’. A watchman…or, watchgirl. So I’d doubt Briggun would ever kill her. Punish her, maybe…but he’d never deshtroy her. Havin’ that second pair o’ eyes about is jusht too convenient for his lazy ways.”